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LIBRARY    OF   THE   UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


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LIBRARY   OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF    CALIFORNIA 


Y   OF   CALIFORNIA         LIBRARY  .OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


JUSTIN  WINGATE 

RANCHMAN 


JUSTIN  WINGATE 

RANCHMAN 

By 
John  H.  Whitson 

Author  of  "  The  Rainbow  Chasers,"  "  Barbara,  a 
Woman  of  the  West,"  etc. 


With  Illustrations  from  Drawings  by 
Arthur  E.  Becher 


Boston 

Little,  Brown,  and  Company 
1905 


Copyright,  1905, 
By  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  April,  1905. 


S.  J.  PARKHILL  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.  8. 


a 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 

THE  PREPARATION 

CHAP. 

PAGE 

I 

THE  DREAMER  AND  THE  DREAM    . 

I 

II 

WINGATE  JOURNEYS  ON       .        t        . 

.   13 

III 

CLAYTON'S  VISITORS             . 

.      20 

IV 

SIBYL           .        .        .        t        , 

.     29 

V 

THE  INVASION  OF  PARADISE         . 

.    35 

VI 

WHEN  LOVE  WAS  YOUNG    . 

.    42 

VII 

WILLIAM  SANDERS               •» 

.     .48 

VIII 

AND  MARY  WENT  TO  DENVER 

.  60 

IX 

A  REVELATION  OF  CHARACTER 

.      .71 

X 

PIPINGS  OF  PAN  .        .        ,        .        . 

.     .  76 

XI 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  RANGE 

.     .  84 

Xtl 

WITH  SIBYL  AND  MARY       .        . 

.     .  89 

XIII 

WHEN  AMBITION  CAME 

.    97 

XIV 

IN  THE  STORM     ..... 

.  no 

XV 

A  FLASH  OF  LIGHTNING       .        . 

.     .116 

XVI 

BEN  DAVISON'S  TRIUMPH    . 

.  128 

BOOK  II 

THE  BATTLE 

CHAP. 

PAGE 

I 

COWARDICE  AND  HEROISM     . 

.           .    132 

II 

THE  HARVEST  OF  THE  FIRE  . 

.    141 

III 

LEES  OF  THE  WINE      .        .        . 

•    154 

vi  CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

IV    IN  THE  WHIRLPOOL 162 

V    HARKNESS  AND  THE  SEER 175 

VI  THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME         .        .        .        .185 

VII    THE  COMPACT 195 

VIII    THE  THRALL  OF  THE  PAST 202 

IX  SANDERS   TELLS   His    STORY        .        .        .        .208 

X    IN  THE  CRUCIBLE 220 

XI    FATHER  AND  SON 232 

XII    CHANGING  EVENTS 241 

XIII  IN  PARADISE  VALLEY 250 

XIV  THE  DOWNWARD  WAY 255 

XV    MARY'S  DESPAIR 258 

XVI    THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 267 

XVII    SHADOWS  BEFORE 274 

XVIII    PHILOSOPHY  GONE  MAD 280 

XIX    SIBYL  AND  CLAYTON 285 

XX    THE  RIDE  WITH  DEATH 293 

XXI    RECONCILIATION 304 

XXII  THE  DREAMS  THAT  CAME  TRUE  ....  309 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  With  a  boldness  that  gripped  his  throat  he 
slipped  his  hand  along  the  back  of  the  arbor 
seat" Frontispiece 

"  The  woman  sitting  there  on  her  chafing  horse 

stared  back  at  him  " Page         3 1 

"  Sanders  twisted  round  in  his  chair  and  began 
to  draw  from  his  pocket  a  grimy  memoran 
dum  book " "  212 

"  Behind  them  broke  a  bellowing  tumult,  as  the 
foremost  cattle  began  to  plunge  downward 
into  the  canon  "  ....,"  296 


JUSTIN  WINGATE 

RANCHMAN 

BOOK  ONE— THE  PREPARATION 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  DREAMER  AND  THE  DREAM 

BEFORE  swinging  out  of  the  saddle  in  front  of 
the  little  school  house  which  was  serving  as  a 
church,  Curtis  Clayton,  physician  and  phil 
osopher,  looked  over  the  valley  which  held  the  story 
of  a  romantic  hope  and  where  he  was  to  bury  his 
own  shattered  dream.  The  rain  of  the  morning  had 
cleared  away  the  bluish  ground  haze,  the  very  air 
had  been  washed  clean,  and  the  land  lay  revealed  in 
long  levels  and  undulating  ridges.  Behind  towered 
the  mountain,  washed  clean,  too,  its  flat  top  etched 
against  the  sky  and  every  crag  and  peak  standing 
out  sharp  and  hard  as  a  cameo. 

Clayton's  broncho  pawed  restlessly  on  the  edge  of 
a  grass-grown  cellar.  All  about  the  tiny  cluster  of 
unoccupied  houses  were  other  grass-grown  cellars, 
and  the  foundation  lines  of  vanished  buildings, 
marking  the  site  of  the  abandoned  town.  Beside  the 
school  house,  from  which  came  now  the  sound  of 
singing,  horses  were  tied  to  a  long  hitching  rack.  A 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

few  farm  wagons  stood  near,  the  unaccustomed  mud 
drying  on  their  wheels. 

Clayton  dismounted  and  began  to  tie  his  horse. 
His  left  arm,  stiff  and  bent  at  the  elbow,  swung  awk 
wardly  and  gave  such  scant  aid  that  he  tightened  the 
knot  of  the  hitching  strap  by  pulling  it  with  his 
teeth.  He  was  dressed  smartly,  in  dust-proof  gray, 
and  wore  polished  riding  boots.  His  unlined  face 
showed  depression  and  weariness.  In  spite  of  this 
it  was  a  handsome  face,  lighted  by  clear  dark  eyes. 
The  brow,  massive  and  prominent,  was  the  brow  of 
a  thinker.  Over  it,  beneath  the  riding  cap,  was  a 
tangle  of  dark  hair,  now  damp  and  heavy.  When  he 
spoke  to  his  horse  his  tones  were  suggestive  of  in 
nate  kindness.  There  were  no  spurs  on  the  heels  of 
his  riding  boots,  and  he  patted  the  horse  affection 
ately  before  turning  to  the  door  of  the  church. 

The  interior  was  furnished  as  a  school  house. 
Cramped  into  the  seats,  with  feet  drawn  up  and  arms 
on  the  tops  of  the  desks,  sat  the  few  people  who  com 
posed  the  congregation,  young  farmers  and  their 
wives  and  small  children,  with  wind-burned,  honest 
faces.  Apart  from  the  others  was  a  boy,  whose 
slight  form  fitted  easily  into  the  narrow  space  he  oc 
cupied.  He  sat  well  forward  and  looked  steadily  at 
the  preacher,  turning  about,  however,  as  all  did, 
when  Clayton  came  in  at  the  door. 

Clayton's  entrance  and  the  turning  about  of  the 
people  to  look  broke  the  rythmic  swing  of  the  hymn, 
but  the  preacher,  standing  behind  the  teacher's  desk 
which  served  as  pulpit,  lifted  his  voice,  beating  the 
time  energetically  with  the  book  he  held,  and  the 


The  Dreamer  and  the  Dream 

hymn  was  caught  up  again  with  vigor.  He  smiled 
upon  Clayton,  as  the  latter  squeezed  into  a  rear  seat, 
as  if  to  assure  him  that  he  was  welcome  and  had  dis 
turbed  no  one. 

The  preacher  took  his  text  from  the  thirty-fifth 
chapter  of  Isaiah : 

"  The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  be 
glad  for  them ;  and  the  desert  shall  rejoice,  and  blos 
som  as  the  rose.  It  shall  blossom  abundantly,  and 
rejoice  even  with  joy  and  singing.  .  .  . 
Strengthen  ye  the  weak  hands,  and  confirm  the 
feeble  knees.  Say  to  them  that  are  of  a  fearful 
heart,  Be  strong,  fear  not." 

Clayton  was  not  greatly  interested  in  the  Scripture 
read,  in  the  preacher,  nor  in  the  people.  He  had  en 
tered  to  get  away  from  his  own  thoughts  more  than 
anything  else.  But,  weary  of  thinking,  he  tried  now 
to  let  the  preacher  lead  him  out  of  himself. 

His  attention  was  caught  and  held  by  the  applica 
tion  of  the  text.  The  preacher  was  using  it  not  as  a 
spiritual  metaphor,  but  as  a  promise  to  be  fulfilled 
literally  and  materially  in  the  near  future  and  in  that 
place.  Looking  through  the  open  windows  at  the 
level  grasslands  damp  with  the  recent  rain,  he  saw 
the  good  omen.  The  desert  was  there  now,  but  men 
should  till  it  and  it  should  blossom  as  the  rose ;  yel 
low  grain  fields  should  billow  before  the  breezes  that 
came  down  from  the  mountain;  the  blue  bloom  of 
alfalfa  should  make  of  the  valley  a  violet  cup  spilling 
its  rich  perfume  on  the  air  and  offering  its  treasure 
of  honey  for  the  ravishing  of  the  bee;  rice  corn, 
Kaffir  corn,  and  sorghum  should  stand  rank  on  rank, 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

plumed,  tufted,  and  burnished  by  the  sunlight.  Par 
adise — Clayton  heard  the  name  of  the  valley  and  the 
town  for  the  first  time — should  become  as  the 
Garden  of  God. 

Clayton  saw  that  the  man  was  a  dreamer,  putting 
into  form  the  cherished  hopes  of  the  people  in  the 
narrow  seats  before  him.  A  land  boom  had  cast 
high  its  tide  of  humanity,  then  had  receded,  leaving 
these  few  caught  as  the  drift  on  the  shore.  The 
preacher  was  one  of  them ;  and  he  looked  into  their 
eyes  with  loving  devotion  and  flushing  face,  as  he 
contrasted  the  treeless  valley  of  the  present  with  the 
Paradise  of  his  desire.  He  was  a  dreamer  who  be 
lieved  his  dream  and  was  trying  to  make  his  hearers 
believe  it. 

At  first  Clayton  had  observed  the  outer  man  stand 
ing  behind  that  teacher's  desk;  he  had  noted  the 
shabby,  shiny  suit  of  black,  scrupulously  clean,  the 
coat  much  too  long  and  every  way  too  large,  the 
white  neatly-set  cravat,  and  the  protruding  cuffs, 
which  he  was  sure  were  scissors-trimmed.  Now  he 
looked  only  at  the  man's  face,  with  its  soft  brown 
beard  which  the  wind  stirred  at  intervals,  at  the 
straight  goodly  nose,  at  the  deep-set  dreamy  eyes, 
and  through  the  eyes  into  the  mind  of  the  dreamer. 

"  The  temperament  of  a  seer,  of  a  Druid  priest,  of 
a  prophet  of  old !  "  was  his  thought.  "He  prophesies 
the  impossible ;  yet  by  and  by  some  one  may  appear 
who  will  be  able  to  show  that  the  impossible  has  had 
fulfillment.  It  has  happened  before." 

Willing  to  forget  himself  further  and  know  more 
of  this  man  who,  it  could  be  seen,  longed  for  a  mental 


The  Dreamer  and  the  Dream 

companionship  which  the  members  of  his  congrega 
tion  could  not  give  him,  Clayton  remained  after  the 
services,  accepting  a  pressing  invitation  to  tarry 
awhile. 

"We  do  not  often  have  visitors  here  now,"  said 
the  preacher,  pathetically. 

So  through  the  hot  afternoon  they  sat  together  in 
the  preacher's  little  home,  the  one  occupied  house  in 
the  town,  while  he  dilated  on  his  dream ;  and  as  the 
day  grew  cool,  they  walked  together  by  the  banks  of 
the  tepid  stream  and  looked  at  the  deserted  houses 
and  the  blaze  of  the  sun  behind  the  flat-topped  moun 
tain.  The  boy  who  had  sat  so  far  forward  and  given 
such  apparent  attention  to  the  sermon  walked  out 
with  them.  Absorbed  in  studying  the  personality  of 
the  preacher,  Clayton  gave  the  silent  boy  little  at 
tention. 

As  the  sun  slipped  down  behind  the  mountain, 
throwing  pleasant  shadows  across  the  valley,  Clay 
ton  took  his  horse  from  the  preacher's  stable  and  set 
out  for  a  ride.  And  as  he  went  the  preacher  stood  in 
his  doorway,  smiling  and  dreaming  his  dream. 

From  his  boyhood  Peter  Wingate  had  been  a 
dreamer.  In  his  college  days  the  zeal  of  the  mission 
ary  was  infused  into  his  veins,  and  the  Far  West, 
which  he  pictured  as  a  rough  land  filled  with  rough 
and  Godless  men,  drew  him.  He  had  found  it 
poorer  than  the  East,  more  direct  and  simple,  more 
serious  and  sincere,  but  not  Godless.  And  he  had 
come  to  love  it.  It  was  a  hopeful,  toiling  land, 
rough  perhaps,  but  as  yet  unspoiled. 

Then  a  day  came  which  brought  a  new  interest 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

into  his  life.  A  youth  climbed  down  from  a  white- 
topped  prairie  schooner  with  a  bundle  in  his  arms 
and  entered  the  preacher's  house.  The  bundle  held  a 
baby,  whose  mother  had  died  in  the  white-topped 
wagon.  As  the  youth,  who  was  almost  a  man  in 
stature,  but  still  a  boy  in  years,  told  the  story  of  the 
child,  and  placed  in  Wingate's  hands  its  few  belong 
ings,  he  spoke  of  Paradise.  At  first  the  spiritual- 
minded  minister  thought  he  referred  to  spiritual 
things,  then  understood  that  he  was  speaking  of  a 
new  town,  situated  in  a  wonderful  valley  that 
widened  down  from  the  mountains.  Thenceforth, 
though  the  child  had  not  come  from  this  new  town, 
this  new  town  and  its  promise  became  linked  in  the 
minister's  mind  with  the  child;  and  by  and  by  he 
journeyed  to  it,  when  the  boy  was  well-grown  and 
sturdy  and  the  town  had  been  caught  up  suddenly  in 
the  whirl  of  a  wild  boom. 

He  began  to  preach  in  the  new  school  house,  and 
organized  a  new  church ;  and  soon  the  fiery  earnest 
ness  and  optimism  of  the  boom  was  infused  into  his 
heart,  supplementing  the  zeal  of  the  missionary.  He 
no  longer  saw  Paradise  as  it  was,  but  as  he  wished 
it  to  be.  The  very  name  allured  him.  He  had  long 
preached  of  a  spiritual  Paradise ;  here  was  the  germ 
of  an  earthly  one.  From  rim  to  rim,  from  mountain 
to  mesa,  it  was,  to  his  eyes,  a  favored  valley,  fitted 
for  happy  homes.  The  town  vanished,  and  the 
settlers  departed,  but  the  dream  remained.  The 
dreamer  still  saw  the  possibilities  and  the  beauties — 
the  fruitful  soil,  the  sun-kissed  grassy  slopes,  the  al 
luring  blue  mountains.  And  the  dream  was  asso- 

6 


The  Dreamer  and  the  Dream 

elated  with  the  child;  the  dreamer,  the  dream,  and 
the  child,  were  as  one,  for  had  not  the  child  brought 
to  the  dreamer  his  first  knowledge  of  this  smiling 
land? 

So  Wingate  remained  after  the  boom  bubble 
broke,  encouraging  the  few  sturdy  farmers  who 
clung  with  fondness  to  the  valley.  Even  when  one 
by  one  the  houses,  all  but  those  belonging  to  the 
town  company,  were  torn  down  and  borne  away,  the 
dream  was  not  shattered.  The  dreamer  became  the 
agent  of  the  company,  charged  with  the  care  of  the 
remaining  houses  until  the  dream  should  reach  again 
toward  fulfillment. 

While  he  waited,  the  dreamer  pictured  the  joy  and 
devotion  with  which  he  would  minister  to  the  spirit 
ual  needs  of  the  new  people,  who  would  love  him  he 
knew  even  as  he  should  love  them.  And  thus  wait 
ing,  he  moved  the  rounds  of  his  simple  life,  in  the 
midst  of  the  few,  who  rewarded  his  love  and  zeal 
with  ever-renewed  devotion.  Even  those  who  cared 
nothing  for  religion  cared  for  the  religious  teacher, 
and  came  regularly  to  hear  him  preach. 

They  could  not  give  much  to  his  support ;  they  had 
not  much  themselves,  but  he  needed  so  very  little. 
He  had  his  small  stipend  from  the  missionary  organ 
ization  of  his  denomination,  the  garden  he  tended  on 
the  low  land  by  the  stream  yielded  well  in  the  favor 
able  seasons,  and  the  missionary  barrel  filled  with 
clothing  which  some  worthy  ladies  had  sent  him 
from  the  East  two  years  before  had  held  such  a 
goodly  store  of  cast-off  garments  that  neither  he  nor 
the  child,  a  stout  boy  now,  had  required  anything  in 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

that  line  since.  The  shiny,  long-tailed  coat  which  he 
kept  so  scrupulously  clean  and  which  was  a  world 
too  large  for  him,  and  the  tight-fitting,  ink-spattered 
sailor  suit  which  the  boy  wore,  had  come  from  the 
depths  of  that  barrel,  which  seemed  as  miraculous  in 
its  way  as  the  widow's  cruse  of  oil. 

And  now,  when  he  had  seen  no  stranger  in  Para 
dise  for  months,  and  no  new  face  except  when  he 
journeyed  once  a  week  to  preach  in  the  little  railroad 
town  at  the  base  of  the  mountain,  there  had  come 
this  pleasant-voiced  man,  who  spoke  well  of  the 
prophetic  sermon  and  seemed  able  to  appreciate  the 
promise  and  future  of  the  land. 

When  Curtis  Clayton  returned  from  his  ride  night 
had  fallen.  The  Milky  Way  had  stretched  its  shin 
ing  trail  across  the  prairies  of  the  sky,  and  the  Dip 
per  was  pouring  the  clouds  out  of  its  great  bowl  and 
shaking  them  from  its  handle. 

Clayton  sat  looking  at  the  night  sky,  and  as  he  sat 
thus  the  boy  came  out  to  put  away  his  horse.  With 
in  the  house,  Wingate,  busy  with  coffee  pot  and  fry 
ing  pan,  directed  him  to  the  room  he  was  to  occupy, 
and  announced  that  supper  would  be  ready  soon. 

At  the  end  of  fifteen  minutes  the  boy  tapped  on 
Clayton's  door.  The  latch  had  not  caught,  and  the 
door  flew  open.  The  boy  stood  in  hesitation,  look 
ing  into  the  little  room,  wondering  if  he  had  of 
fended.  What  he  beheld  puzzled  him.  Clayton  had 
been  burning  letters  in  the  tiny  stove ;  and  beside  the 
lamp  on  the  little  table,  with  scorched  edges  still 
smoking,  stood  the  photograph  of  a  beautiful 
woman.  Clayton  had  evidently  committed  it  to  the 

8 


The  Dreamer  and  the  Dream 

flames,  and  then  relenting  had  drawn  it  back.  Turn 
ing  quickly  now,  when  he  heard  the  door  moving  on 
its  hinges,  he  caught  up  the  photograph  and  thrust 
it  hastily  into  an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  but  not  be 
fore  the  boy  had  been  given  a  clear  view  of  the  pic 
tured  face. 

Wingate  talked  of  his  dream,  when  grace  had  been 
said  and  the  supper  was  being  eaten.  The  boy 
thought  of  the  burned  letters  and  of  the  scorched 
photograph  showing  that  alluringly  beautiful  face, 
and  wondered  blindly.  He  saw  that  the  stranger 
was  not  listening  to  the  talk  of  the  minister ;  and  ob 
served,  too,  what  the  dreamer  did  not,  that  the 
stranger  ate  very  little,  and  without  apparent  relish. 
Though  he  could  not  define  it,  and  did  not  at  all  un 
derstand  it,  something  in  the  man's  face  and  manner 
moved  him  to  sympathy. 

For  that  reason,  when,  after  supper,  the  minister 
had  talked  to  the  end  of  his  dream  and  was  about  to 
begin  all  over  again,  the  boy  slipped  away,  and  re 
turning  put  a  small  book  into  the  stranger's  hands. 
Clayton  stared  at  it,  then  looked  up,  and  for  the  first 
time  saw  the  boy.  He  had  already  seen  a  face  and 
form  and  a  sailor  suit,  but  not  the  boy.  Now  he 
looked  into  the  clear  open  blue  eyes,  set  in  an  at 
tractive,  wind-tanned  face.  His  features  lost  their 
grim  sadness  and  he  smiled. 

:t  Your  son  ?  "  he  said,  speaking  to  Wingate. 

The  dreamer  showed  surprise.  He  had  already 
spoken  to  this  man  of  the  boy. 

"  My  adopted  son,  but  a  real  son  to  me  in  all  but 
the  ties  of  blood." 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

The  boy  drew  open  the  little  Bible  he  had  placed 
in  Clayton's  hands.  Some  writing  showed  on  the 
fly-leaf.  The  boy's  fore-finger  fell  on  the  writing. 

"  My  very  own  mother  wrote  those  words,  and 
my  name  there — Justin,"  he  announced,  reverently. 

Clayton  looked  at  the  writing,  and  then  again  at 
the  boy.  The  record  on  the  fly-leaf  was  but  a  simple 
memorandum,  in  faded  ink : 

"  Justin,  my  baby  boy,  is  now  six  months  old. 
May  God  bless  and  preserve  him  and  may  he  become 
a  good  man." 

A  date  showed,  in  addition  to  this,  but  that  was 
all ;  not  even  the  mother's  name  was  signed. 

"  This  was  in  it,  too ;  it  is  my  hair." 

The  boy  pulled  the  book  open  at  another  place  and 
extracted  a  brown  wisp. 

"  We  think  it  is  his  hair,"  said  Wingate.  "It  was 
found  beside  the  writing  on  the  fly-leaf." 

Then  while  the  boy  crowded  close  against  Clay 
ton's  knees,  and  Clayton  sat  holding  the  open  Bible 
in  his  hands,  Wingate  told  the  story  of  this  child, 
who  now  bore  the  name  of  Justin  Wingate. 

"  The  young  fellow  who  brought  him  to  me  said 
there  were  some  papers,  which  he  had  left  behind, 
having  forgotten  them  when  he  set  out,  and  that  he 
would  fetch  them  later.  But  he  never  came  again, — 
he  was  only  a  boy,  and  boys  forget — and  I  even 
failed  to  get  his  name,  being  somewhat  excited  at  the 
time,  because  of  the  strange  charge  given  to  me,  a 
bachelor  minister." 

Clayton  read  the  words  over  slowly,  and  looked 
intently  at  the  boy. 

10 


The  Dreamer  and  the  Dream 

"  It  is  a  good  name,"  he  said  at  length. 

The  boy  took  the  book  and  placed  the  wisp  of  hair 
carefully  between  the  pages  as  he  closed  it.  He  was 
still  standing  close  against  the  knees  of  this  man,  as 
if  he  desired  to  help  or  comfort  him,  or  longed  for  a 
little  of  the  real  father  love  he  had  never  known.  But 
Clayton,  after  that  simple  statement,  dropped  into 
silence.  This  absence  of  speech  was  not  observed  by 
Wingate,  who  had  found  in  the  story  of  the  boy  an 
opportunity  to  take  up  again  the  narrative  of  his  in 
troduction  to  Paradise  and  his  life  there  since.  Yet 
the  boy  noticed.  His  face  flushed  slowly ;  and  when 
Clayton  still  remained  mute  and  unresponsive,  he 
slipped  away,  with  a  choke  in  his  throat. 

Shortly  afterward  he  said  good  night  to  the  vis 
itor,  kissed  the  dreamer  on  his  bearded  cheek,  and 
with  the  Bible  still  in  his  hands  crept  away  to  bed. 
Wingate  sat  up  until  a  late  hour,  talking  of  his 
dream,  receiving  now  and  then  a  monosyllabic  assent 
to  some  prophetic  statement.  Having  started  at 
last  to  his  room  Clayton  hesitated  on  the  threshold 
and  turned  back. 

"  As  you  are  the  agent  of  the  town  company  you 
could  let  one  of  those  houses,  I  suppose?  "  was  his 
unexpected  inquiry. 

The  face  of  the  dreamer  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  Most  assuredly." 

"Then  you  may  consider  one  of  them  rented — to 
me;  it  doesn't  matter  which  one.  I  think  I  should 
like  to  stop  here  awhile." 

It  was  one  o'clock  and  the  Sabbath  was  past. 
Wingate,  his  dream  more  vivid  than  it  had  been  for 

ii 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

months,  sat  down  at  his  little  writing-  desk,  and  in  a 
fever  of  renewed  hope  began  to  pen  a  letter  to  the 
town  company,  announcing  the  letting  of  a  house 
and  prophesying  an  early  revival  of  the  boom. 


12 


CHAPTER  II 

WINGATE  JOURNEYS  ON 

JUSTIN  WINGATE  tip-toed  softly  to  and  fro  in 
front  of  the  improvised  book  shelves  and  looked 
at  the  formidable  array  of  books  which,  together 
with  some  furniture,  had  arrived  for  Clayton,  and 
had  been  brought  out  from  the  town.  The  books 
were  of  a  different  character  entirely  from  those 
which  composed  the  minister's  scanty  collection. 
Justin  read  the  names  slowly,  without  comprehen 
sion — "  Spencer's  Synthetic  Philosophy,"  "  Dar 
win's  Origin  of  Species,"  "  Tyndall's  Forms  of 
Water,"  and  hard-worded  titles  affixed  to  volumes 
of  the  German  metaphysicians.  There  were  medi 
cal  books  too,  a  great  many  it  seemed  to  the  boy,  in 
leather  bindings,  with  gilt  titles  set  in  black  squares 
on  the  backs. 

Clayton  came  in  while  Justin  was  tip-toeing  be 
fore  the  book  shelves.  His  appearance  and  manner 
had  changed  for  the  better.  He  looked  at  the  boy 
with  kindly  interest,  and  was  almost  cheerful. 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  like  to  become  an  edu 
cated  man,  Justin  ?  " 

The  boy's  eyes  shone. 

"  I  don't  know.  Would  I  have  to  read  all  of 
those?" 

13 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

A  smile  twitched  the  corners  of  Clayton's  dark 
eyes. 

"  Not  all  of  them  at  once,  and  perhaps  some  of 
them  never.  At  any  rate  we  wouldn't  try  to  begin  so 
high  up  as  that." 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  question  the  boy  con 
cerning  his  acquirements,  and  found  they  were  not 
inconsiderable,  for  the  lonely  minister  had  tried  to 
be  faithful  to  his  trust.  Except  in  one  line,  the 
Scriptural,  the  faculty  of  the  imagination  had  alone 
been  neglected;  and  that  seemed  strange,  for  Peter 
Wingate  was  so  quiveringly  imaginative  that  he 
lived  perpetually  in  a  dream  world  which  he  believed 
to  be  real.  Justin  had  never  heard  of  the  Greek  gods 
and  demi-gods ;  the  brothers  Grimm,  Hans  Christian 
Andersen,  the  Arabian  Nights,  were  unknown  names 
to  him ;  he  had  never  visited  Liliput  and  the  land  of 
the  giants  with  Gulliver,  nor  even  gone  sailing  ro 
mantic  seas  and  living  in  blissful  and  lonely  exile 
with  Robinson  Crusoe  and  Friday.  Yet  he  knew 
all  the  wonderful  and  attractive  stories  of  the  Bible. 
The  friendship  of  David  and  Jonathan  was  as  real 
to  him  as  the  love  that  existed  between  himself  and 
the  minister.  He  knew  the  height  of  Goliath,  and 
had  even  measured  on  the  ground,  with  the  minis 
ter's  help,  the  length  of  that  giant's  spear.  He  had 
seen  the  baby  Moses  drawn  from  his  cradled  nest  in 
the  bulrushes;  had  witnessed  the  breaking  pitchers 
and  the  flashing  lights  of  Gideon's  band;  and  had 
watched  in  awed  wonder  when,  at  the  command  of 
Joshua,  the  sun  had  stopped  over  Gibeon  and  the 

14 


Wingate  Journeys  On 

moon  had  hung  suspended  above  the  valley  of 
Ajalon. 

Clayton's  dark  eyes  looked  into  the  blue  eyes  of 
the  boy  as  they  talked,  and  the  choking  ache  which 
had  been  in  his  heart  when  he  came  to  that  lonely 
home  in  that  lonely  valley  all  but  ceased. 

;<  You  haven't  missed  so  very  much  after  all,  Jus 
tin.  I  guess  there  aren't  any  better  stories  than 
those  you  know  anywhere  in  the  world.  But  you 
know  them  so  well  now  that  we  will  begin  on  some 
thing  else." 

Stepping  to  a  box  he  drew  out  a  book.  When  he 
came  back  with  it  Justin  recognized  the  title,  "  Rob 
inson  Crusoe,"  for  he  had  once  heard  the  minister 
mention  it  in  a  sermon. 

"  Is  it  a  story  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  One  of  the  best  stories  ever  written,  I  think.  It 
has  made  boys  run  away  to  sea,  I've  been  told,  but  I 
don't  believe  you  will  be  harmed  by  it  in  that  way. 
Seven-league  boots  would  be  needed  to  run  away  to 
sea  from  here.  So  we'll  risk  reading  it." 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  read;  and  the  boy, 
standing  close  against  his  knees  as  on  that  first 
night,  felt  a  strange  warmth  steal  through  him.  He 
wanted  to  put  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  this  man ; 
and  when  at  length  Clayton  in  shifting  his  position 
dropped  a  hand  softly  on  the  boy's  shoulder  and  let 
it  rest  there  as  he  read  on,  the  inner  warmth  so  in 
creased  in  the  heart  of  the  boy  that  he  could  hardly 
follow  the  story,  fascinating  as  it  was. 

What  may  be  called  Justin's  course  of  instruction 
under  Clayton  began  that  day,  after  Clayton  had 

15 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

talked  with  Wingate  and  asked  the  privilege  of  or 
dering  certain  books  for  Justin.  The  mail  of  a  few 
days  later  brought  "  Treasure  Island." 

"  A  wild  book  and  a  bloody  one,"  said  Clayton,  as 
he  took  it  from  its  wrapping,  while  Justin  looked  on 
expectantly,  "  but  a  little  wildness  will  be  a  good 
thing  in  this  stagnation,  and  the  blood  in  such  a  book 
doesn't  hurt  a  boy  who  isn't  bloody-minded.  I 
think  there  must  have  been  pirates  who  went  about 
bludgeoning  folks  in  the  days  of  the  cave-dwellers, 
and  certainly  books  about  pirates  couldn't  have  made 
those  fellows  what  they  were." 

It  was  a  delight  to  instruct  such  a  natural,  in 
quisitive,  imaginative  boy  as  Justin.  And  the  lessons 
were  not  confined  to  books.  Clayton  had  a  little 
glass  which  he  slipped  in  and  out  of  his  pocket  at  in 
tervals  as  he  walked  about  with  the  boy.  Looking 
through  that  glass  the  greenish  stuff  that  appeared 
on  the  stones  by  the  margin  of  the  tepid  stream  was 
revealed  as  a  beautiful  green  moss,  the  tufted  head 
of  a  dusty  weed  was  seen  to  be  set  with  white  lilies, 
and  tiny  specks  became  strange  crawling  and  creep 
ing  things.  Suddenly  Justin  had  found  that  the 
very  air,  the  earth,  even  the  water  in  the  tepid  pools 
of  the  stream,  swarmed  with  life,  and  it  was  an  as 
tonishing  revelation.  And  everywhere  was  order, 
and  beauty  of  form  and  coloring ;  for  even  a  common 
rock,  broken  and  viewed  through  that  glass,  showed 
beautiful  diamond-like  crystals. 

One  day  Clayton  plucked  the  leaf  of  a  weed  and 
holding  it  beneath  the  glass  let  Justin  look  at  it. 

"  It's  covered  all  over  with  fuzzy  hairs !  " 

16 


Wingate  Journeys  On 

Clayton  plucked  another  of  a  different  kind. 

"  Isn't  it  funny  ?  You  can't  see  tfiem,  only 
through  the  glass,  but  the  edges  are  spiked,  just  as  if 
there  were  little  thorns  set  all  along  it !  " 

Clayton  sat  down,  toying  with  the  weeds  and  the 
glass. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  those  spikes  and  hairs  are 
for?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Perhaps  no  one  really  knows,  but  men  may  have 
theories.  See  that  little  moth  moving  now  across 
the  weed  blade.  He  is  on  the  under  side,  and  the 
hairs  help  him  to  hold  on.  When  he  reaches  the 
edge  and  wishes  to  climb  over,  the  hairs  and  the 
spikes  help  him  to  do  that.  That  shows,  to  me  at 
least,  that  nature  provides  as  completely  for  a  moth 
as  for  a  man,  and  that  God  cares  as  much  for  the 
one  as  for  the  other ;  only  man,  having  a  very  high 
opinion  of  himself,  doesn't  think  so.  Aha!  Mr. 
Moth's  wings  are  wet  and  he  is  having  some  trouble ; 
we'll  see  if  we  can  help  him." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  turn  the  grass  blade 
over,  and  in  doing  so  crushed  the  moth;  it  was  his 
half  useless  left  hand,  heavy  and  clumsy.  His  face 
flushed  as  he  looked  at  his  crooked  arm,  and  then  at 
the  moth,  its  mail  of  silver  dust  smeared  over  the 
green,  sword-like  blade. 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  he  said. 

He  put  away  the  glass  and  rose,  and  there  was  no 
further  lesson  that  morning. 

Sometimes  Justin  rode  forth  with  him  on  a  visit 
to  the  home  of  a  settler.  All  knew  him  soon,  and 

12 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

were  glad  of  his  coming.  That  he  appeared  to  have 
established  himself  permanently  in  one  of  the  aban 
doned  houses  of  the  town  gave  them  selfish  pleasure, 
for  it  was  good  to  have  a  doctor  near. 

Often  Clayton  rode  forth  alone,  spending  whole 
days  off  in  the  hills,  or  on  the  level  lands  stretching 
away  from  their  base.  He  found  Justin  always 
watching  for  him  when  he  returned,  and  he  never 
failed  to  bring  home  something  of  interest  in  the 
shape  of  a  crystal,  a  flower,  a  lichen,  or  mayhap  an 
abandoned  bird's  nest,  which  furnished  either  a  les 
son  or  food  for  conversation. 

Always  on  his  return  from  any  trip,  far  or  near, 
Wingate  questioned  him  with  anxious  yearning. 
Were  the  farmers  still  hopeful,  what  crops  looked 
most  promising,  did  the  deceptive  clouds  about  the 
mountain  promise  rain,  had  he  seen  any  land-hunters 
or  white-topped  schooners  on  the  trail?  And  when 
Clayton  had  answered,  the  dreamer  talked  of  his 
dream.  He  was  sure  of  its  fulfillment  some  day. 

"A  baseless  dream,"  thought  Clayton;  "but  all 
dreams  are  baseless,  gaudy,  unsubstantial  things, 
wrought  by  hope  and  fancy  out  of  foundationless 
air,  and  to  shatter  his  dream  would  be  to  shatter  his 
heart." 

As  he  returned  one  day  Clayton  beheld  in  the  trail 
the  vanishing  wheels  of  the  mail  carrier's  cart  and 
saw  Justin  running  toward  him  in  great  excitement. 
Quickening  the  pace  of  his  horse  he  was  soon  at  the 
boy's  side. 

"  Father — Mr.  Wingate — has — had  a  fit,  or  some- 

18 


Wingate  Journeys  On 

thing.     He's  lying  on  the  floor  and  won't  speak  to 
me,  and  I  can't  lift  him." 

Clayton  leaped  from  the  saddle  and  rushed  into 
the  house,  with  Justin  at  his  heels.  The  preacher 
lay  on  the  floor,  with  arms  spread  out.  Beneath  him 
was  an  open  letter,  across  which  he  had  fallen. 
Clayton  made  a  hurried  examination,  and  with 
Justin's  aid  placed  him  on  the  low  bed.  Picking  up 
the  letter  he  glanced  at  it.  It  was  from  the  secretary 
of  the  town  company,  and  was  apparently  an  answer 
to  one  which  Wingate  had  sent : 

"  Mr.  Peter  Wingate. 

"  My  Dear  Sir : — We  regret  that  we  cannot  view 
the  prospects  of  the  town  and  valley  of  Paradise  as 
hopefully  as  you  do.  In  fact  we  have  concluded  to 
abandon  it  definitely  and  permanently,  and  to  that 
end  we  have  sold  all  the  buildings.  The  agent  of  the 
purchaser  will  visit  you  at  once  and  make  arrange 
ments  for  their  removal. 

"  Very  truly  yours, 

"  ROYCE  GILBERT, 

"  Secretary  Paradise  Land  and  Town  Company." 

"  Is  he — very  sick  ?  "  wailed  the  boy  anxiously. 

Clayton  dropped  the  letter  to  the  floor,  and  swing 
ing  about  in  his  chair  drew  Justin  to  him,  pressing 
him  close  against  his  heart.  There  were  tears  in  his 
eyes  and  his  voice  choked. 

"  Justin,"  he  said,  "  you  will  need  to  be  a  very 
brave  boy  now ;  Mr.  Wingate  is  dead." 


CHAPTER  III 
CLAYTON'S  VISITORS 

WHEN  jack-screws  and  moving  teams  had 
done  their  work  in  the  town  of  Paradise 
but  one  house  remained,  the  minister's, 
and  that  only  because  Curtis  Clayton  had  purchased 
it  and  moved  into  it,  with  Justin.     The  farmers  of 
the  valley  wondered  that   he  should   remain,   but 
tempered  their  surprise  with  gratitude. 

He  and  Justin  seemed  even  more  closely  linked 
now.  But  not  even  to  Justin  did  he  ever  speak  of 
why  he  had  come  to  the  valley  or  why  he  tarried. 
The  coming  appeared  to  have  been  a  thing  of  chance, 
as  when  a  batted  ball  rolling  to  some  obscure  corner 
of  the  field  stops  there  because  no  force  is  applied 
to  move  it  farther.  If  there  was  any  observable 
change  in  him  after  Wingate's  death,  it  was  that  he 
became  more  restless.  The  mind  of  the  dreamer,  in 
its  workings  somewhat  akin  to  his  own,  yet  with  a 
simple  faith  which  he  did  not  possess,  had  soothed 
and  rested  him. 

Clayton  wore  out  his  increased  restlessness  by 
long  walks  with  Justin,  abandoning  the  rides  ap 
parently  because  he  disliked  to  leave  the  boy  alone. 
But  his  fame  as  a  doctor  was  spreading  through  the 
thinly-settled  country,  and  when  forced  away  from 

20 


Clayton's  Visitors 

home  by  calls  he  left  Justin  at  the  house  of  some 
farmer,  usually  that  of  Sloan  Jasper,  for  there  the 
boy  found  pleasant  companionship  in  the  person  of 
Mary  Jasper,  a  dark-eyed  girl,  with  winning,  mis 
chievous  ways  and  cheeks  like  wild  rose  petals. 
Time  never  hung  heavily  with  Justin  at  Sloan  Jas 
per's. 

In  addition  to  his  work  of  instructing  Justin,  and 
his  reading,  Clayton  spent  much  time  in  writing,  in 
the  little  room  which  the  minister  had  fitted  up  as  a 
study.  Sometimes  Justin  was  given  the  privilege  of 
dusting  this  room,  and  once  when  so  engaged  he 
whisked  from  the  table  the  scorched  photograph  he 
had  seen  before.  Clayton  had  evidently  been  look 
ing  at  it,  had  placed  it  under  a  large  blotter,  and  then 
had  neglected  to  put  it  away  before  admitting  Justin. 
The  boy  stared  intently  into  the  beautiful  face  shad 
owed  forth  on  that  bit  of  cardboard,  for  he  won 
dered  ;  then  he  replaced  it  beneath  the  blotter  and  re 
sumed  his  dusting.  But  a  question  had  arisen  in  his 
heart. 

To  give  Justin  pleasant  occupation  and  make  the 
time  pass  more  rapidly,  Clayton  purchased  a  few 
sheep  and  placed  the  boy  over  them  as  a  herder ;  and, 
as  if  to  furnish  diversion  for  himself,  he  assisted 
Justin  in  building  a  sod-walled  corral  and  sod 
shelters  for  the  sheep. 

It  was  a  delight  to  Justin  to  guard  the  sheep  on 
the  grassy  slopes  and  drive  them  to  the  tepid  water- 
holes.  Often  he  did  this  in  company  with  Mary 
Jasper;  he  on  foot,  or  high  on  Clayton's  horse,  the 
rosy-cheeked  girl  swaying  at  his  side  on  her  lazy 

21 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

gray  burro,  which  she  had  to  beat  continually  with 
a  small  cudgel  if  she  progressed  at  all. 

Once  Clayton  remonstrated  with  her  for  what  he 
deemed  her  cruelty  to  the  beast. 

"Doctor  Clayton,"  she  said  severely,  wrinkling 
her  small  forehead,  "  the  only  way  to  make  this  crit 
ter  go  is  to  kill  him ;  that's  what  my  paw  says !  "  and 
she  swayed  on,  pounding  the  burro's  back  with  the 
stick  and  kicking  his  sides  energetically  with  her 
bare  heels. 

Yet  the  valley  life  was  lonely,  so  that  the  coming 
of  any  one  was  an  event ;  and  it  was  a  red-letter  day 
when  Lemuel  Fogg  drifted  in  with  his  black-topped, 
wine-colored  photograph  wagon,  and  William  Sand 
ers  with  his  dirty  prairie  schooner.  Fogg  was  a  fat 
young  man,  whose  mustache  drooped  limply  over  a 
wide  good-humored  mouth,  and  whose  round  face 
was  splotched  yellow  with  large  freckles.  Sanders 
was  even  younger  than  Fogg.  He  lacked  Fogg's 
buoyancy  and  humor,  had  shrewd  little  gray  eyes 
that  peered  and  pried,  and  slouched  about  in  shabby 
ill-fitting  clothing.  Clayton  gave  them  both  warm 
welcome,  and  they  remained  with  him  over  night. 

Sanders,  who  was  alone  in  his  wagon,  was  look 
ing  for  land  on  which  to  settle.  Apparently  Fogg's 
present  business  was  to  take  photographs,  and  he 
began  by  taking  one  of  Justin  standing  in  the  midst 
of  his  sheep,  with  Mary  Jasper  sitting  on  her  burro 
beside  him,  her  bare  feet  and  ankles  showing  below 
her  dusty  gray  dress. 

In  addition  to  the  land,  which  he  looked  over 
carefully  with  his  shrewd  little  eyes,  Sanders  cast 

22 


Clayton's  Visitors 

furtive  glances  at  Clayton's  stiff  arm.  He  ventured 
to  word  a  question,  when  he  and  Fogg  sat  with 
Justin  and  Clayton  in  the  little  study  after  supper, 
surrounded  by  Clayton's  books  and  papers,  while  the 
sheep  were  securely  housed  in  the  sod  corral  and  the 
unrelenting  wind  piped  insistently  round  the  house. 

"  'Tain't  any  my  business  as  I  know  of/'  he  be 
gan,  apologetically,  "  but  I  can't  help  lookin'  at 
that  arm  o'  your'n,  and  wonderin'  what  made  it  so. 
I  had  my  fortune  told  onc't  by  a  man  who  had  an 
arm  like  that,  and  he  said  a  tiger  bit  it.  He  was  an 
East  Injun,  er  a  Malay,  I  reckon.  It  come  to  me 
that  you  might  have  met  with  an  accident  sometime, 
er  somethin'  er  'nuther  ?  There's  a  story  about  it,  I 
reckon  ?  " 

The  blood  rushed  in  a  wave  to  Clayton's  face  and 
appeared  to  suffuse  even  his  dark  eyes.  He  did  not 
answer  the  question,  being  sensitive  on  the  subject, 
and  deeming  it  an  impertinence. 

Sanders  waited  a  time,  while  Fogg  talked ;  then  he 
returned  to  his  inquiry,  with  even  greater  emphasis. 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  story,"  said  Clayton,  speaking 
slowly,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation,  while  a  ghastly 
smile  took  the  attractiveness  out  of  his  thoughtful 
countenance.  "  It  wasn't  an  accident,  though." 

"No?"  said  Sanders. 

"  The  thing  was  done  in  cool  deliberation.  I  was 
in  college,  in  a  medical  college,  for  I'm  a  doctor  you 
know.  I  was  a  student  then ;  and  it  was  the  custom 
among  the  students  to  perform  various  operations  on 
each  other,  by  way  of  practice,  so  that  when  we  went 
out  from  there  to  begin  our  work  we  would  know 

23 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

how  things  should  be  done.  One  day  I  sawed  a 
student's  skull  open,  took  out  a  spoonful  of  his 
brains,  and  sewed  the  wound  up  so  nicely  that  he 
was  well  in  a  week.  The  operation  was  a  great  suc 
cess,  but  I  dipped  a  little  too  deep  and  took  out  too 
much  of  the  gray  matter,  and  after  that  he  was  al 
ways  omitting  something  or  other  that  he  should 
have  remembered.  In  return  for  what  he  had  per 
mitted  me  to  do  he  put  me  on  the  operating  table  one 
day,  broke  my  arm  with  a  mallet,  and  then  proceeded 
to  put  it  together  again.  In  doing  so  he  omitted  the 
funny  bone,  and  my  arm  has  been  this  way  ever 
since." 

Fogg  broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  Sanders 
flushed  slowly;  and  getting  up  walked  to  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  chewing  wrathfully,  splintering  the 
story  with  his  teeth  as  he  splintered  the  grass  blades 
that  he  plucked  and  chewed  when  walking  about  to 
view  the  valley  land. 

"  Huh !  "  he  grunted,  coming  back  and  dropping 
lumpily  into  his  chair.  "  Tell  that  to  a  fool  an* 
mebbe  you'll  git  a  fool  to  believe  ye,  but  I  don't !  " 

Fogg  slapped  his  fat  knee  and  roared  again. 

"  Ha,  ha !  Ho,  ho !  Ask  him  something  else, 
Sanders!  Who-ee!  Doc,  I  didn't  think  it  was  in 
you !  If  you  do  anything  like  that  again  Til  have  to 
let  a  reef  out  of  the  band  of  my  trousers.  Fire  an 
other  question  at  him,  Sanders." 

"  No,"  said  Sanders,  while  a  sullen  fire  glowed  in 
his  little  eyes ;  "  I  was  goin'  to  ask  him  some  other 
things,  but  I'm  done !  " 

Then  he  chewed  again,  tried  hard  to  laugh,  and 

24 


Clayton's  Visitors 

seemed  about  to  say  something ;  but  Fogg  broke  in. 

"  I  say,  Doc,  you  can  tell  a  story  so  well  you'd 
ought  to  be  in  my  line.  Story  telling  is  my  long 
suit.  Lincoln  ought  to  have  altered  his  immortal 
saying  before  giving  it  to  the  world.  My  experience 
is  that  if  you  keep  the  people  in  a  good  humor  you 
can  fool  all  of  them  all  of  the  time,  and  there  ain't 
any  better  way  than  by  feeding  them  anecdotes  and 
jollying  them  until  they  think  they  are  the  smartest 
ever.  For  instance,  Sanders  believes  in  fortune  tell 
ers;  they  jolly  him,  and  that  pleases  him,  and  they 
get  his  coin.  It's  the  same  way  with  everything  and 
everybody." 

In  addition  to  the  photographic  apparatus  stored 
in  the  wine-colored  wagon  Fogg  had  a  collection  of 
Navajo  blankets,  Pueblo  pottery,  Indian  baskets, 
bows  and  arrows,  and  such  things.  Seeing  that  his 
host  was  not  to  be  a  purchaser,  and  being  in  a  com 
municative  mood,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  expose  now 
the  secrets  of  his  trade,  in  proof  of  his  view  of  the 
gullibility  of  the  general  public. 

"  See  that,"  he  said,  taking  up  a  hideous  image  of 
Pueblo  workmanship.  "  Ninety  men  out  of  a  hun 
dred  will  believe  that  thing,  with  its  froggy  mouth, 
is  a  Pueblo  idol,  without  you  telling  them,  and  the 
others  will  believe  it  when  you  do  tell  them." 

"  Huh!  "  grunted  Sanders,  still  angry;  "  if  'tain't 
an  Injun  idol,  what  is  it  ?  " 

It  seemed  natural  for  Fogg  to  laugh,  and  he 
laughed  again,  with  easy  gurgling. 

"  You  may  call  it  anything  you  want  to,  but  it 
ain't  an  idol.  I've  seen  Pueblo  idols ;  there's  a  room 

25 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

full  of  them  in  the  old  Governor's  Palace  in  Santa 
Fe,  and  they  look  more  than  anything  else  like  stone 
fence  posts  with  holes  gouged  near  one  end  for  the 
eyes,  nose  and  mouth.  Them  are  genuine  old  Pueblo 
idols,  but  you  bet  the  Pueblos  didn't  sell  them,  and 
they  didn't  give  'em  away.  Did  you  ever  know  of 
a  people  that  would  sell  their  God?  I  never  did." 

"  None,  except  Christians !  "  said  Clayton,  speak 
ing  slowly,  but  with  emphasis. 

Fogg  set  the  staring  image  on  the  table  and  looked 
at  him. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  Yes,  I  reckon  they 
do,  a  good  deal  of  the  time.  But  an  Indian  wouldn't ; 
he  would  never  sell  his  God.  Maybe  it's  because 
Christians  think  so  little  of  theirs  that  they're  so 
ready  to  believe  a  Pueblo  will  sell  his  for  'most  any 
old  thing.  Them  images  are  just  caricatures,  made 
to  sell.  I  go  among  the  Pueblos  three  or  four  times 
a  year  and  buy  up  a  lot  of  their  pottery,  and  I  en 
courage  them  to  make  these  images,  which  the  aver 
age  tourist  thinks  are  gods,  for  they  sell  better  even 
than  the  water  jars  and  other  things  that  they  turn 
out. 

''  Then  I  buy  blankets  of  the  Navajos,  which  they 
make  dirt  cheap  now.  I  helped  to  put  'em  onto  that. 
You  can  sell  a  dozen  cheap  blankets  easier  than  a 
single  expensive  one,  especially  when  the  people 
you're  selling  to  think  they're  getting  the  genuine 
goods  at  a  bargain.  It's  easier  for  the  Navajo  weav 
ers  to  tear  old  government  blankets  to  pieces  and 
re-weave  them  and  color  them  with  analine  dyes 
than  it  is  for  them  to  take  their  own  wool  and  their 

26 


Clayton's  Visitors 

own  dyes  and  put  the  things  together  in  the  old  way. 
They  won't  wear  of  course,  and  the  colors  fade,  but 
they  sell  like  hot  cakes. 

"  I  buy  for  a  dealer,  who  snaps  up  everything  of 
the  kind  I  can  bring  him  and  hollers  for  more.  You 
ought  to  see  the  crowds  of  people,  especially  tourists, 
who  wear  out  his  floors.  I'm  going  to  have  a  store 
of  that  kind  myself  some  day.  I  take  photographs 
for  him,  of  scenery  and  other  things  that  will  sell ; 
and  bring  him  loads  of  basket  work  and  bows  and 
arrows  from  the  Jicarilla  Apaches  just  over  the  New 
Mexican  line.  He  grabs  for  the  Jicarilla  work, 
which  I  can  get  almost  cheaper  than  anybody,  for  I 
know  the  head  men.  The  Jicarillas  used  to  be  slow 
workers  and  too  honest,  like  the  Navajo  weavers; 
but  they're  onto  their  job  now,  and  can  put  a  willow 
basket  together  and  dye  it  with  patent  dyes  in  al 
most  no  time." 

Thus  Lemuel  Fogg  discoursed  of  his  business 
methods,  until  he  had  succeeded  in  proving  several 
things  concerning  himself,  in  addition  to  his  easy 
belief  that  the  whole  world  is  either  covetous  or 
dishonest. 

Fogg  departed  the  next  morning,  on  his  way  to 
Denver.  Sanders  lingered  in  the  valley  for  two  or 
three  days,  peeking  and  prying,  at  intervals  visiting 
a  fortune  teller  of  local  repute  in  the  town,  who  saw 
land,  houses,  and  cattle  for  him,  in  the  grounds  of  a 
coffee  cup.  But  he  was  angered  against  Clayton  and 
did  not  return  to  his  house.  A  dozen  times  he  told 
inquiring  farmers  that  he  "  reckoned  "  he  would 

27 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

take  land  there  and  become  one  of  them.  But  the 
grounds  in  the  coffee  cup  did  not  settle  just  right, 
and  at  length  he,  too,  departed. 


28 


CHAPTER  IV 

SIBYL 

ONE  day  there  came,  across  the  level  lands,  a 
wave  of  horsemen  and  hounds  in  a  rabbit 
hunt,  the  baying  of  the  dogs  breaking  sharp 
ly  on  the  peaceful  calm  of  the  valley.  Justin  rushed 
from  the  house  when  he  heard  the  clamor.  Clayton 
followed  more  slowly,  and  looked  across  the  valley 
from  his  doorway.  The  flutter  of  skirts  told  him 
that  some  of  the  saddles  bore  women.  He  frowned. 
This  slaughter  of  rabbits  was  particularly  distaste 
ful  to  him,  though  he  knew  that  the  few  farmers  on 
the  low  land  by  the  stream  would  welcome  it,  if  the 
horses  and  dogs  did  not  cut  up  the  cultivated  fields. 
Big  gray  jack  rabbits,  routed  from  their  coverts, 
were  bobbing  on  in  advance  of  the  baying  hounds 
and  galloping  riders.  More  rabbits  were  seen  to 
start  up,  bouncing  out  of  bunches  of  grass  or  scat 
tered  clumps  or  sage.  Following  behind,  driven  at 
a  lively  gait,  came  a  mule  team,  drawing  a  light 
spring  wagon  into  which  the  slain  rabbits  were 
thrown. 

The  extended  line  had  advanced  in  a  big  semi 
circle;  and  the  ends  bending  in,  the  chase  drew  on 
toward  the  solitary  home  of  the  solitary  doctor. 
Justin  was  filled  with  excitement.  The  lust  of 

29 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

killing,  which  seems  to  be  in  the  racial  blood,  stirred 
strongly  within  him,  and  was  only  held  in  partial 
leash  by  certain  teachings  and  admonitions  well 
hammered  in  by  his  instructor.  Suddenly,  quite 
carried  away,  he  swung  his  hat  and  yelled : 

"  Mary  is  on  one  of  those  horses !  See  her,  out 
there  on  the  right  side,  on  the  white  horse!  She 
must  have  been  at  the  station  and  joined  them  when 
they  started." 

Clayton  drew  back  from  the  doorway  without  a 
glance  at  the  form  of  Mary  Jasper  borne  onward 
with  flying  leaps.  A  rush  of  disgust  shook  him,  so 
that  he  did  not  care  to  look  longer.  But  Justin  re 
mained  outside,  swinging  his  hat  and  whooping  at 
intervals,  quite  taken  out  of  himself. 

Then  a  louder  clamor,  and  a  cry  from  Justin,  drew 
Clayton  to  the  door  again.  One  of  the  rabbits  was 
approaching  the  house,  springing  on  with  indescrib 
able  swiftness,  yet  unable  either  by  running  or  dodg 
ing  to  shake  off  the  pursuit  of  the  lithe-limbed,  bay 
ing  creatures  that  cleft  the  air  behind  it.  Two  of  the 
foremost  of  the  hounds  were  in  chase  of  this  rabbit, 
one  twenty  yards  in  advance  of  the  other.  Pushed 
hard,  the  rabbit  crouched  and  dodged  again  with 
such  celerity  that  the  hound,  whose  open  mouth  at 
the  instant  was  almost  closing  on  it,  was  thrown 
headlong  in  a  frantic  effort  to  stop  and  turn  as  quick 
ly  as  the  rabbit  itself.  The  second  hound  rushed  at 
it,  and  the  change  of  direction  flung  the  fleeing  rab 
bit  upon  the  bit  of  trampled  grass  in  front  of  the 
open  door  in  which  Clayton  stood. 

It  saw  the  opening,  and  in  desperation  darted  into 

30 


Sibyl 

it  as  into  a  cave,  whisking  past  Clayton's  legs.  The 
hound  came  close  after,  yelping  fiendishly.  With 
an  exclamation  that  sounded  like  an  oath,  Clayton 
kicked  at  it;  but  the  hound  almost  overthrew  him, 
leaped  into  the  house,  and  he  heard  the  rabbit's  death 
cry,  and  a  crunching  of  bones  as  the  dog's  ponder 
ous  jaws  closed  on  its  quivering  body. 

Then  Clayton  heard  a  pounding  of  hoofs,  and 
with  eyes  blazing  wrathfully  he  looked  up,  and  saw 
the  original  of  the  photograph  which  he  had  hurled 
into  the  fire  and  then  had  drawn  out  and  treasured 
as  if  he  could  not  bear  to  part  with  it.  The  blood 
receded  from  his  face,  leaving  it  livid  and  ghastly. 

"Sibyl!"  he  exclaimed. 

The  woman  drew  up  her  horse  in  front  of  the  door 
through  which  the  dog  had  darted.  She  saw  the 
man,  and  her  clutch  of  the  rein  tightened.  Clayton 
looked  up  at  her,  and,  standing  in  the  doorway,  while 
the  dog,  having  completed  its  bloody  work  panted 
out  past  him  with  furious  haste,  he  put  his  strong 
right  hand  against  the  side  of  the  door,  with  a  falter 
ing  motion,  as  if  he  felt  the  need  of  aid  to  sustain 
him  from  falling. 

The  woman  sitting  there  on  her  chafing  horse 
stared  back  at  him,  while  the  clamor  of  the  hounds 
broke  over  them.  Her  face  had  flushed  more  than 
even  the  excitement  of  the  chase  warranted;  yet  he 
knew  she  was  marvellously  beautiful,  as  he  looked 
at  her  full  rounded  throat  and  chin,  at  her  olive 
cheeks  in  which  dimples  nestled,  and  into  her  great 
dark  eyes,  that  held  now  a  surprised  light.  Her  hair 
was  as  dark  as  her  eyes,  and  even  though  much  hid- 

31 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

den  beneath  her  riding  hat,  it  was  still  a  crown  of 
glory.  Clayton  saw  only  enough  of  the  blue  riding 
habit  to  know  that  it  became  her;  his  eyes  were 
drawn  to  her  face. 

"  Are  you  living  here  ?  "  she  asked  in  astonish 
ment,  giving  a  glance  at  the  small  house. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  huskily.  "  I  thought  it  as 
good  a  place  as  any,  and  out  of  the  world;  but  it 
seems  you  found  your  way  here.  And  Death  came 
riding  with  you,  as  usual." 

"  Curtis,  you're  always  ridiculous  when  you  say 
foolish  things!  I've  been  wondering  where  you 
were.  You  don't  intend  to  return  to  Denver  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Not  even  if  I  wanted  you  to  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  fascinating  unfathom 
able  eyes,  noting  his  manly  presence,  his  clear-cut 
dark  features,  and  the  stiff,  awkward  left  arm.  As 
she  did  so  the  color  flamed  back  into  his  face. 

"No!    Not  unless— " 

"  Unless  I  would  consent  to  be  as  poky  as  you 
are!" 

"  No,  not  that.  I  shouldn't  expect  you  to  take  an 
interest  in  the  things  I  do.  You  never  did,  but  I 
didn't  care  for  that." 

He  stopped  as  if  in  hesitation  and  stood  trembling. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  I've  found  where  you're  living. 
I  suppose  your  post  office  address  is  the  town  over 
there  by  the  side  of  the  mountain,  where  the  station 
is  ?  I  shall  have  something  to  send  you  by  mail  by 
and  by." 

32 


Sibyl 

"  Yes,  my  mail  comes  to  the  station  post  office." 

He  still  trembled  and  appeared  to  hesitate. 

"  It's  queer,  how  I  happened  to  find  you  here, 
isn't  it?  I  have  an  acquaintance  in  that  little  town, 
and  she  invited  me  down  the  other  day.  Some  other 
strangers  to  the  place  chanced  to  be  there,  and  this 
rabbit  hunt  was  gotten  up  for  our  entertainment." 

"  A  queer  form  of  entertainment !  "  he  observed, 
with  caustic  emphasis. 

"  To  you  I  suppose  it  isn't  anything  short  of 
murder?" 

"  It's  strange  to  me  how  any  one  can  find  pleasure 
in  it." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  as  one  looks  at  it.  But  I  must 
be  going.  I  don't  care  to  have  people  see  us  talking 
too  long  together.  I'm  glad,  though,  that  I  found 
you." 

"Good  bye !  "  he  said,  his  lips  bloodless  again. 

She  pulled  her  horse  sharply  about,  and  in  another 
moment  was  galloping  on  in  the  hunt,  leaving  him 
standing  in  the  doorway  staring  after  her.  He  stood 
thus  until  the  clamor  of  the  dogs  sounded  faint  and 
she  became  a  mere  swaying  speck,  then  he  turned 
back  into  the  house.  Justin  came  in  at  his  heels.  He 
had  seen  the  woman  and  recognized  the  pictured  face 
of  the  photograph. 

"  Take  the  rabbit  out  and  bury  it  somewhere, 
Justin,"  said  Clayton  wearily. 

Then  he  passed  on  into  his  study  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

A  few  days  later  the  mail  carrier  brought  him  a 
Denver  newspaper  of  ancient  date  with  ink  lines 

33 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

drawn  round  a  divorce  notice.  The  paper  had  been 
sent  to  his  address  by  Sibyl.  Clayton  read  the 
marked  notice  carefully,  and  thrusting  the  paper  into 
the  stove  touched  a  lighted  match  to  it. 


34 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  INVASION  OF  PARADISE 

LEMUEL  FOGG  made  other  visits  to  Paradise 
Valley,  as  the  seasons  came  and  went,  and 
Justin  learned  to  look  forward  with  pleasure 
to  his  coming.     Always  he  stayed  over  night,  and 
talked  long  with  Clayton,  for  whom  he  had  con 
ceived  a  liking. 

Clayton  continued  to  cling  to  his  lonely  home. 
Though  more  than  once  tempted  to  depart  he  had 
never  been  able  to  make  up  his  mind  to  do  so.  He 
averred  to  Fogg,  and  to  other  acquaintances,  that, 
having  been  dropped  down  into  Paradise  Valley 
quite  by  chance,  mental  and  physical  inertia  held 
him  there ;  he  was  lazy,  he  said,  and  the  indolent  life 
of  Paradise  Valley  had  strong  attraction  for  him. 

Yet,  as  his  reputation  as  an  excellent  doctor 
spread,  he  often  rode  many  weary  miles  to  visit  a 
patient.  Always  the  studies  went  on,  and  the  writ 
ing,  and  the  little  glass  slipping  out  of  and  into  his 
pocket  made  the  whole  earth  radiant  with  life  and 
beauty.  And  Justin  became  a  stalwart  lad,  whose 
strong  handsome  face,  earnest  blue  eyes,  and  attrac 
tive  personality,  won  new  friends  and  held  old  ones. 

The  few  farmers  who  remained  had  learned  well 
some  lessons  with  the  passing  of  the  years.  Ceasing 

35 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

to  rely  on  the  uncertain  rainfall,  they  had  decreased 
the  areas  of  their  tilled  fields  and  pushed  them  close 
to  the  stream,  where  the  low-lying  soil  was  blest 
with  sufficient  sub-irrigation  to  swell  the  deep  tap 
roots  of  the  alfalfa.  They  kept  small  herds  of  cattle, 
and  some  sheep,  which  they  grazed  on  the  bunch 
grass.  The  few  things  they  had  to  sell,  honey  rifled 
from  the  alfalfa  blooms  by  the  bees,  poultry,  eggs 
and  butter,  they  found  a  market  for  in  the  town,  or 
shipped  to  Denver. 

Sloan  Jasper  was  of  those  who  remained,  and 
Mary,  a  tall  girl  now,  had  taken  the  place  of  her 
mother  in  the  farmer's  home.  Mrs.  Jasper  had 
given  up  the  struggle  with  hard  climatic  conditions, 
and  had  passed  on,  attended  in  her  last  illness  by  the 
faithful  doctor. 

With  Lemuel  Fogg  there  came,  one  day,  a  ranch 
man  named  Davison;  and  in  their  wake  followed 
herds  of  bellowing,  half-wild  cattle,  and  groups  of 
brisk-riding,  shouting  cowboys,  who  rode  down  the 
fields  in  the  moist  soil  by  the  stream,  as  they  galloped 
in  pursuit  of  their  refractory  charges. 

The  advent  of  the  cattle  and  the  cowboys,  the  es 
tablishment  of  the  Davison  ranch,  the  erection  of 
houses  and  bunk-rooms,  stables  and  corrals,  filled 
Justin's  life  to  the  brim  with  excitement.  He  fra 
ternized  with  the  cowboys,  and  struck  up  a  warm 
friendship  with  Philip  Davison's  son  Ben,  a  lively 
young  fellow  older  than  himself,  who  could  ride  a 
horse  not  only  like  a  cowboy,  but  like  a  circus 
athlete,  for  he  could  perform  the  admirable  feat  of 
standing  in  the  saddle  with  arms  folded  across  his 

36 


The  Invasion  of  Paradise 

breast  while  his  well-trained  broncho  tore  around 
the  new  corral  at  a  gallop. 

When  the  other  members  of  the  Davison  house 
hold  came  and  were  domiciled  in  the  new  ranch 
house,  Justin  found  that  Lucy  Davison,  the  ranch 
man's  niece,  the  "  cousin  "  of  whom  Ben  had  talked, 
was  a  beautiful  girl  of  Mary's  age,  with  more  than 
Mary's  charm  of  manner.  She  was  paler  than 
Mary,  and  had  not  her  rose-leaf  cheeks,  but  she  was 
more  beautiful  in  her  way,  and  she  had  something 
which  Mary  lacked.  Justin  did  not  know  what  it 
was,  for  he  was  not  yet  analytical,  but  he  was  inter 
ested  in  a  wholly  new  manner.  He  could  not  be 
with  her  enough,  and  when  he  was  absent  thoughts 
of  her  filled  his  mind  and  even  his  dreams. 

Mary  Jasper  hastened  to  call  on  Lucy  Davison; 
and  in  doing  so  made  the  acquaintance  of  that  most 
interesting  person,  Miss  Pearl  Newcome,  Davison's 
housekeeper.  Miss  Newcome  had  passed  the  beauty 
stage,  if  indeed  she  had  ever  dwelt  at  all  in  that  de 
lectable  period  which  should  come  by  right  to  every 
member  of  the  sex;  but  she  still  cherished  the  ro 
mantic  illusions  of  her  earlier  years,  and  kept  them 
embalmed,  as  it  were,  in  sundry  fascinating  volumes, 
which  were  warded  and  locked  in  her  trunk  up 
stairs.  She  brought  these  out  at  pshychological 
moments,  smelling  sweetly  of  cedar  and  moth  balls, 
and  read  from  them,  to  Mary's  great  delight;  for 
there  never  were  such  charming  romances  in  the 
world,  and  never  will  be  again,  no  matter  who  writes 
them.  Some  of  them  were  in  the  form  of  pamphlets, 
yellow  and  falling  to  pieces ;  others  were  in  creaky- 

37 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

backed  books;  and  still  others,  and  these  the  most 
read,  in  cunning  bindings  of  Miss  Newcome's  own 
contriving. 

Sitting  on  the  flat  lid  of  the  trunk,  with  one  foot 
tucked  under  her  for  comfort,  while  Mary  crouched 
on  the  floor  with  her  rose-leaf  cheeks  in  her  palms, 
Pearl  Newcome  would  read  whole  chapters  from 
"  Fanny  the  Flower  Girl,  or  the  Pits  and  Pitfalls  of 
London,"  from  "  Lady  Clare,  or  Lord  Marchmont's 
Unhappy  Bride,"  from  "  The  Doge's  Doom,  or  the 
Mysterious  Swordsman  of  Venice,"  and  many 
others.  The  mysterious  swordsman  in  the  "  Doge's 
Doom  "  was  especially  entrancing,  for  he  went  about 
at  night  with  a  black  mask  over  his  face,  and  made 
love  and  fought  duels  with  the  greatest  imaginable 
nonchalance.  It  taxed  the  memory  merely  to  keep 
count  of  his  many  loves  and  battles,  and  it  was  dark 
ly  hinted  that  he  was  a  royal  personage  in  disguise. 

"  The  Black  Mask's  scabbard  clanked  ominously 
as  he  sprang  from  the  gondola  to  the  stone  arches 
below  the  sombre  building,  while  the  moonlight  was 
reflected  from  his  shining  coat  of  mail  and  from  the 
placid  waters  of  the  deep  lagoon,  showing  in  the 
pellucid  waves  alike  the  untamed  locks  that  hung 
about  his  shoulders  and  the  white  frightened  face  of 
the  slender,  golden-haired  maiden  who  leaned  to 
ward  him  with  palpitating  bosom  from  the  narrow, 
open  window  above  him." 

When  that  point  was  reached  Mary  clasped  her 
hands  tightly  across  her  knees  and  rocked  in  aching 
excitement ;  for  who  was  to  know  whether  the  Black 
Mask  would  succeed  in  getting  the  lovely  maiden  out 

38 


The  Invasion  of  Paradise 

of  the  clutches  of  the  foul  doge  who  held  her  a 
prisoner,  or  whether  some  guard  concealed  in  a  niche 
in  the  wall  would  not  pounce  out,  having  been  set 
there  by  the  shrewd  doge  for  the  purpose,  and  slice 
the  Black  Mask's  head  off,  in  spite  of  the  protecting 
coat  of  mail? 

Aside  from  her  duties  as  housekeeper,  which  she 
never  neglected,  there  was  one  other  thing  that  could 
cause  Pearl  Newcome  to  surrender  voluntarily  the 
joys  of  that  perch  on  the  trunk  lid  in  the  midst  of  her 
redolent  romances  with  Mary  Jasper  for  an  appre 
ciative  listener,  and  that  was  the  voice  of  Steve 
Harkness,  the  ranch  foreman.  The  attraction  of  the 
printed  page  palled  when  she  heard  Harkness's 
heavy  tones,  and  stopping,  with  her  finger  between 
the  leaves,  she  would  step  to  the  window ;  and  some 
times,  to  Mary's  regret,  would  go  down  stairs, 
where  she  would  cut  out  a  huge  triangle  of  pie  and 
place  it  on  the  kitchen  table. 

Harkness  was  big  and  jovial,  and  in  no  manner 
resembled  the  Black  Mask,  who  was  slender,  lithe, 
had  a  small  supple  wrist,  hair  of  midnight  blackness, 
and  "  a  voice  like  the  tinkle  of  many  waters."  Hark- 
ness's  voice  was  big  and  heavy,  and  his  wrist  was 
large  and  red.  But  he  was  usually  clean-shaven, 
scented  himself  sweetly  with  cinnamon  drops,  and 
was  altogether  very  becoming,  in  the  eyes  of  Pearl 
Newcome.  And  she  knew  he  liked  pie.  Sometimes 
Pearl  came  back  to  the  trunk  and  continued  the 
dropped  romance.  That  was  when  Harkness  was  in 
a  hurry  and  could  not  linger  in  the  kitchen  to  joke 
and  laugh  with  her.  But  if  time  chanced  to  hang 

39 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

heavily  on  his  hands  and  no  troublesome  cowboy  or 
refractory  steer  claimed  his  attention,  she  did  not 
return  at  all,  and  Mary,  tired  of  waiting,  crept  down 
in  disappointment. 

Delightful  as  Mary  Jasper  and  Justin  Wingate 
found  the  people  of  the  new  ranch,  Curtis  Clayton 
secluded  himself  more  than  ever  with  his  books  and 
his  writing,  and  was  not  to  be  coaxed  out  of  his  shell 
even  by  Justin's  stories  of  Ben's  marvellous  acro 
batic  and  equestrian  feats  and  of  Lucy's  brightness 
and  clever  talk. 

Yet  he  was  drawn  out  one  day,  by  a  summons  that 
could  not  be  disobeyed.  Harkness  had  been  hurled 
against  the  new  wire  corral  by  a  savage  broncho, 
and  Clayton's  services  as  a  surgeon  were  demanded. 
He  never  refused  a  call  like  that. 

He  found  Harkness  sitting  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
ranch  house,  to  which  he  had  come  as  to  a  shelter, 
with  Pearl  Newcome  bending  over  him,  a  camphor 
bottle  in  one  of  her  hands  and  a  blood-stained  cloth 
in  the  other.  Davison,  Fogg,  and  several  cowboys, 
stood  about  in  helpless  awkwardness.  Harkness's 
face  looked  white  and  faint,  in  spite  of  its  red  tan. 
The  sleeve  of  his  flannel  shirt  had  been  rolled  to  the 
shoulder  and  a  bloody  bandage  was  wound  round 
the  arm. 

"  Nothin'  to  make  a  fuss  about,"  he  said,  when 
he  saw  Clayton.  "  I  got  slung  up  ag'inst  the  barbed 
wire  and  my  arm  was  ripped  open.  It's  been  bleedin' 
some,  but  that's  good  fer  it." 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  a  number  of  stitches,"  Clay 
ton  announced,  when  he  had  examined  and  cleansed 

40 


The  Invasion  of  Paradise 

the  wound.    He  opened  a  pouch  of  his  saddle-bags. 

"  No  chloryform  ner  anything  of  that  kind  fer 
me,"  said  Harkness,  regarding  him  curiously.  "  Jist 
go  ahead  with  your  sewin'." 

Clayton  obeyed ;  while  Harkness,  setting  a  lighted 
cigarette  between  his  teeth,  talked  and  laughed  with 
apparent  nonchalance. 

Brought  thus  into  close  contact  with  the  people  of 
the  ranch,  the  shell  of  Clayton's  exclusiveness  was 
shattered.  After  that,  daily,  for  some  time,  he  rode 
or  walked  over  to  the  ranch  house  to  see  how  his 
patient  was  doing,  or  Harkness  came  over  to  see 
him.  And  he  found  that  these  people  were  good  to 
know.  They  lessened  the  emptiness  which  had 
gnawed.  They  were  human  beings,  with  wholly  hu 
man  hearts.  And  he  needed  them  quite  as  much  as 
they  needed  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  LOVE  WAS  YOUNG 

JUSTIN  shot  up  into  a  tall  youth ;  he  was  begin 
ning  to  feel  that  he  was  almost  a  man ;  and  love 
had  come  to  him,  as  naturally  and  simply  as  the 
bud  changes  into  the  flower.  It  flushed  his  face,  as 
he  came  with  Lucy  Davison  up  the  path  to  the  arbor 
seat  in  the  cottonwoods,  after  a  stroll  by  the  stream. 
Planted  when  the  ranch  was  established,  the  trees 
were  now  a  cool  and  screening  grove.  Justin  had 
made  for  her  a  crown  of  the  cottonwood  leaves,  and 
had  set  it  on  her  brown  hair.  As  they  walked  along, 
hand  in  hand,  he  looked  at  her  now  and  then,  with 
the  light  of  young  love  in  his  eyes.  He  was  sure  he 
had  never  seen  a  girl  so  beautiful  and  it  gave  him  a 
strange  and  delightful  pleasure  just  to  look  at  her. 
"  Tell  me  more  about  Doctor  Clayton,"  she  said, 
dropping  down  upon  the  arbor  seat.  "  You  told  me 
about  that  scorched  photograph.  What  is  that 
woman  to  him,  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down  by  her. 
"  I  think  she  must  have  been  his  sweetheart." 
"  Just  because  he  couldn't  burn  her  picture  ?  " 
"  Because  he  came  down  here  in  that  queer  way 
and  has  stayed  here  ever  since.     Something  hap 
pened  to  separate  them." 

"  If  that  is  so  I  ought  to  be  sorry,  I  suppose,  but 

42 


When  Love  Was  Young 

I  can't ;  it  was  a  good  thing  for  me ;  it  kept  me  here, 
and  gave  me  a  chance  to — get  an  education." 

"  And  we  do  need  a  doctor  here/'  she  said,  with 
unnecessary  emphasis. 

"  If  he  hadn't  come,  I'm  afraid  I  should  have  been 
sent  away  when  Mr.  Wingate  died,  and  then  I 
shouldn't  ever  have — met  you." 

"  Oh,  you  might  have !  "  she  declared,  tossing  her 
crowned  head  coquettishly. 

She  crumpled  a  cottonwood  leaf  in  her  fingers. 
With  a  boldness  that  gripped  his  throat  he  slipped 
his  hand  along  the  back  of  the  arbor  seat. 

"  And  if — if  I  had  never  met  you?  " 

"  Then  you  wouldn't  have  known  me !  " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not ;  but,  as  you  said,  I  might 
have;  it  seems  to  me  that  something  would  have 
drawn  me  to  you,  wherever  you  were." 

The  hot  color  dyed  her  fair  cheeks.  Her  brown 
eyes  dropped  and  were  veiled  by  their  dark  lashes. 
A  strand  of  the  brown  hair  blown  in  a  tangle  across 
the  oval  of  her  face,  the  delicate  curve  of  the  white 
throat,  the  yielding  touch  of  her  body  as  he  pressed 
his  extended  arm  close  up  against  it,  intoxicated  his 
youthful  senses. 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  how  it  would  have  been  if 
I  had  never  known  you,"  he  declared  earnestly. 
"  We  have  been  good  friends  a  long  time,  Lucy." 

"  We're  good  friends  now,  aren't  we  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  want  it  to  be  something  more  than 
just  friends." 

He  pressed  his  arm  closer  about  her  and  bent  to 
ward  her. 

43 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  saying  it ;  but  I  do 
love  you,  and  have  from — from  the  very  first.  I 
didn't  understand  so  well  what  it  meant  then,  but 
now  I  know — I  know  that  I  love  you,  and  love  you, 
and  love  you ! "  The  arm  tightened  still  more. 
"  And — and  if  you  would  only  say  that  you  love  me, 
too,  and  that — " 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his.  A  dash  of  tears  shone 
in  the  brown  eyes. 

"  I — I  have — hurt  your  feelings !  " 

"  No,  Justin." 

The  sight  of  those  tears,  and  her  tremulous  lips,  so 
moved  him  that,  with  an  impulsive  motion,  and  a 
courage  he  would  not  have  thought  posssible,  he 
stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"  If  you  would  only  say  that  you  do  love  me,"  he 
urged. 

"  I  do  love  you,  Justin,"  she  said,  with  girlish 
earnestness,  "  and  you  ought  to  know  that  I  do." 

"  I  have  always  dreamed  of  this,"  he  declared, 
putting  both  arms  about  her  and  drawing  her  close 
against  his  heart.  "  I  have  always  dreamed  of  this ; 
that  we  might  love  each  other,  and  be  always  to 
gether.  I  think  that  has  been  in  my  heart  since  the 
day  I  first  saw  you." 

He  held  her  tightly  now,  as  if  thus  he  would  keep 
her  near  him  forever. 

"  Have  you  truly  loved  me  always  ?  "  she  asked, 
after  a  long  silence. 

"  Always ;  ever  since  I  knew  you !  " 

"  But  you — you  did  care  for  Mary,  before  I 
came?" 

44 


When  Love  Was  Young 

"  I  always  liked  Mary." 

"  And  you  like  her  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  love  you;  and  that  is  very  different." 

She  sat  quite  still,  but  picked  at  the  leaf  of  the 
cotton  wood.  He  seemed  so  strong  and  so  master 
ful  that  the  touch  of  his  hands  and  the  pressure  of 
his  arms  gave  her  a  delightful  sense  of  weakness  and 
dependence,  a  hitherto  unknown  feeling. 

"  You  never  cared  for  Mary  as — as  you  do  me?" 

"  I  truly  never  loved  Mary  at  all ;  I  liked  her,  and 
we  used  to  have  great  fun  together.  But  we  were 
only  children  then,  you  know !  " 

She  saw  one  of  the  hands  that  enfolded  her;  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat  was  drawn  up  slightly,  disclosing 
the  clear  white  of  the  skin  and  the  deep  line  of  tan 
at  the  wrist.  She  ventured  to  look  at  his  face — the 
side  of  it  turned  toward  her ;  it  was  as  tanned  as  his 
hand.  Something  more  than  admiration  shone  in 
her  brown  eyes. 

"  And  now  you  think  you  are  a  big  man !  " 

"  I  am  older,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  And  was  that — that  the  reason  why  you  tamed 
my  mustang  that  day,  so  that  he  wouldn't  be 
killed?  Because  you  loved  me?  I've  wondered 
about  that." 

"  That  was  the  reason ;  but  I  was  anxious,  too, 
to  save  him." 

She  was  silent  again,  as  if  pondering  this. 

"  I've  thought  that  might  be  the  reason ;  and,  you 
won't  laugh  at  me  if  I  tell  you,  that's  why  I've  ridden 
him  so  much  since.  Uncle  Philip  didn't  want  me  to 
go  near  him  after  that.  But  I  would ;  and  I've  rid- 

45 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

den  him  ever  since;  though  Pearl  has  told  me  a 
dozen  times  that  he  would  throw  me  and  kill  me. 
But  I  was  going  to  ride  him  if  I  could,  because — 
because  you  conquered  him — for  me." 

He  kissed  her  again,  softly. 

"  You  musn't  take  too  many  risks  with  the  mus 
tang  ;  for — for  some  time,  you  know,  you  are  going 
to  marry  me,  I  hope?  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  It's  a  long  way  off,  that  some  time,  but — " 

She  did  not  look  at  him. 

"  Yes,  some  time,  if  I  can,"  she  said  timidly. 

"If  you  can?" 

"  If  Uncle  Philip  will  let  me." 

"  He's  only  your  guardian,  and  you'll  be  of  age 
by  and  by." 

"  It  seems  a  good  while  yet." 

"  But  it  will  come." 

"  Yes,  it  will  come." 

"  I'll  wait  until  that  some  time,"  he  promised  in  a 
low  voice. 

Time  sped  swiftly  beneath  the  cotton  woods.  To 
the  boy  and  girl  in  the  morning  glow  of  love  hours 
are  minutes.  They  did  not  know  they  had  so  many 
things  to  talk  over.  Every  subject  was  colored  with 
a  new  light  and  had  a  new  relationship.  But  love 
itself  was  uppermost,  on  their  lips  and  in  their 
hearts. 

Justin  bore  away  from  that  arbor  seat  a  conflicting 
sense  of  exaltation  and  unworthiness.  The  warm 
inner  light  that  illumined  him  flowed  out  upon  the 
world  and  brightened  it.  He  walked  with  a  sense 


When  Love  Was  Young 

of  buoyancy.  There  was  a  tang  in  the  air  and  a 
glow  in  the  sky  before  unknown. 

Meeting  Ben  Davison  he  had  a  new  sense  of  com 
radeship  with  him;  and  though  Ben  talked  of  the 
young  English  setter  he  had  recently  purchased,  and 
sought  to  show  off  the  good  points  of  the  dog, 
Justin  was  thinking  of  Ben  himself,  who  was  a 
cousin  to  Lucy,  and  now  shared  in  some  degree  her 
superior  merits. 

Also,  when  Philip  Davison  came  out  of  the  ranch 
house  and  walked  toward  the  horse  corrals,  the 
glance  of  his  blue  eyes  seemed  brighter  and  kindlier, 
his  manner  more  urbane  and  noble,  and  the  simple 
order  he  gave  to  Ben  concerning  work  to  be  done 
fell  in  kindlier  tone.  Though  Davison's  words  bit 
like  acid  sometimes,  Justin  was  resolved  now  to  re 
member  always  that  he  was  Lucy's  uncle  and 
guardian. 

Walking  homeward,  Justin  looked  now  and  then 
at  the  ranch  house.  He  had  seen  Lucy  flutter  into 
it  like  a  bird ;  she  was  in  that  house  now,  he  reflected, 
brightening  it  with  her  presence.  The  house,  the 
grounds,  and  more  than  all  the  cottonwood  grove, 
became  sacred. 


47 


CHAPTER  VII 

WILLIAM  SANDERS 

THE  feeling  which  hallowed  the  mere  local 
surroundings   of  love  held  its  place  tena 
ciously   in  Justin's   heart   and   seemed   not 
likely  to  pass  away.    It  was  no  sickly  sentimentality, 
but  had  the  power  to  strengthen  his  inner  life  and 
add  to  his  growing  manliness. 

Justin  was  employed  on  the  ranch  now,  and 
though  there  were  many  distasteful  things  connected 
with  the  work,  he  desired  to  remain,  because  it  gave 
him  so  many  opportunities  to  be  near  Lucy  Davison. 
The  necessary  cruelties  connected  with  the  rearing 
and  handling  of  cattle  on  a  great  range  sickened  him 
at  times ;  for  a  love  that  was  almost  a  worship  of  all 
life,  the*  lower  forms  equally  with  the  higher,  had 
been  instilled  by  Clayton  into  every  fibre  of  his 
being.  To  Justin  now  even  the  elements  seemed 
to  stir  with  consciousness.  Did  not  certain  chemicals 
exhibited  by  Clayton  rush  together  into  precipitates 
and  crystals,  as  if  they  loved  and  longed  to  be  united, 
and  did  not  so  common  a  thing  as  fire  throw  out 
tentacles  of  flame,  and  grapple  with  the  wood  as  if 
hungry?  And  who  was  to  say  that  the  precipitates 
and  crystals  and  the  fire  did  not  know?  Certainly 
not  ignorant  man. 

48 


William  Sanders 

With  this  love  of  every  form  of  life  there  grew  a 
manly  gentleness,  broken  strangely  at  times  by  out 
bursts  of  temper,  so  that  often  it  seemed  whimsical. 

Riding  forth  one  day,  in  cowboy  attire,  along  the 
line  fence  that  held  in  the  cattle  from  the  cultivated 
valley  lands,  he  came  upon  Philip  Davison  engaged 
in  angry  controversy  with  a  young  man  of  some 
what  shabby  appearance.  The  shrewd  little  eyes  of 
this  man  observed  Justin  closely.  Beside  the  fence 
was  a  dirty  prairie  schooner,  from  which  the  man 
had  descended,  and  to  it  two  big  raw-boned  farm 
horses  were  hitched.  Eyeing  Justin  the  man  pushed 
back  his  hat,  then  awkwardly  extended  his  hand. 

"  So  you're  Justin,  air  ye — the  little  boy  I  met 
onc't?  I  reckon  you  don't  know  me?  I  wouldn't 
knowed  you,  but  fer  hearin'  the  name." 

Justin  acknowledged  that  the  man's  face  was  un 
familiar. 

"Well,  I'm  William  Sanders!"  He  plucked  a 
spear  of  grass  and  began  to  splinter  it  with  his  teeth. 
"  I  landed  hyer  some  seasons  ago  with  Mr.  Fogg, 
and  stayed  all  night  with  the  doctor  over  there. 
Mebbe  you'll  remember  me  now.  I've  thought  of 
you  a  good  many  times  sense  then.  You've  growed 
a  lot.  I  was  thinkin'  about  you  t'other  day  while 
on  my  way  hyer;  and  a  fortune  teller  I  went  to  in 
Pueblo  picked  you  out  straight  off,  from  the  cards 
she  told  with.  She  showed  me  the  jack  of  hearts, 
and  said  that  was  the  young  feller  I  had  in  mind. 
Sing'lar,  wasn't  it?" 

Justin  recalled  this  young  man  now,  and  shook 
his  hand  heartily. 

49 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  It  was  singular,"  he  admitted. 

"  We'll  have  to  talk  over  old  times  by  and  by," 
said  Sanders,  amiably. 

But  Davison  was  not  pleased  to  see  Sanders, 
whom  he  had  never  met  before.  Sanders,  it 
appeared,  had  bought  a  quarter-section  of  land  not 
far  from  the  stream,  and  had  now  come  to  occupy  it. 
Trouble  had  arisen  over  the  fact  that  it  was  included 
in  a  large  area  of  mortgaged  and  government  land 
which  Davison  had  fenced  for  his  cattle.  Sanders 
was  demanding  that  he  should  cut  the  fence. 

"  Cut  it  and  let  me  git  my  land,"  he  insisted,  "  er 
I'll  cut  it  fer  ye.  I  know  my  rights  under  the  law." 

"  You  can't  farm  there,  and  you  know  you  can't," 
said  Davison,  in  a  tone  of  expostulation.  "  This  is 
simply  a  piece  of  blackmail.  You  want  me  to  pay 
you  not  to  trouble  me  about  the  fence.  But  I  won't 
do  it.  If  I  did  I'd  have  dozens  of  men  landed  on  me 
demanding  the  same  thing.  You  know  that  nothing 
but  bunch  grass  will  grow  on  that  land." 

Though  he  chewed  placidly  on  the  grass  spear, 
Sanders'  little  eyes  glittered. 

"  Cut  the  fence  and  let  me  git  to  my  land,  er  I'll 
cut  it  fer  ye !  " 

His  love  for  Lucy,  which  extended  now  to  Philip 
Davison  as  a  warm  regard  and  intense  boyish  admir 
ation,  would  have  inclined  Justin  to  the  ranchman's 
side ;  but  it  was  clear  that  Sanders  was  in  the  right 
and  Davison  in  the  wrong. 

"  I'll  see  you  again,  Mr.  Sanders,"  he  said ;  and 
rode  on  while  the  two  men  were  still  wrangling.  It 
was  remarkable,  he  thought,  that  Sanders  should 

50 


William  Sanders 

have  remembered  him  so  long,  and  more  remarkable 
that  a  fortune  teller  who  had  never  seen  him  should 
be  able  to  describe  him  even  in  a  dim  and  uncertain 
way. 

Farther  along  he  encountered  Ben,  ranging  the 
mesa  with  dog  and  gun,  training  his  young  English 
setter.  It  was  Ben's  duty  to  ride  the  line  on  this 
particular  day ;  but  Ben  had  shirked,  and  Justin  had 
been  assigned  to  his  place.  The  current  opinion  of 
the  cowboys  was  that  Ben  was  shiftless  and  unre 
liable. 

"What's  that  hayseed  mouthing  about?"  Ben 
asked. 

"  He  has  bought  some  land  in  there,  and  wants 
your  father  to  cut  the  fence  so  that  he  can  get  to  it." 

"  These  farmers  are  always  making  trouble,"  Ben 
growled. 

Then  his  face  flushed. 

"  Why  didn't  you  stand  up  with  me  against  that 
granger  the  other  day,  when  I  told  him  that  his 
horses,  and  not  ours,  had  damaged  his  crops  ?  " 

Justin  desired  to  think  well  of  Ben  and  remain  on 
terms  of  friendship  with  him  because  of  Lucy. 

"  I  couldn't  very  well,"  he  urged,  "  for  I  saw  our 
horses  in  his  millet,  myself." 

"  Well,  he  didn't ;  he  was  in  town  that  day.  He 
would  have  believed  you,  if  you  had  said  they  were 
his  horses.  You  might  have  backed  me  up,  instead 
of  flinching;  I'd  have  done  as  much  for  you." 

"  You've  got  a  handsome  dog  there !  "  said  Justin. 

"  Oh,  that  setter's  going  to  be  fine  when  I  get  him 
broke,"  Ben  asserted,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  only 

51 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

wish  we  had  some  Eastern  quails  here.  Harkness 
put  you  on  this  line  today,  did  he?  I  wanted  to 
train  my  setter;  so  I  told  him  I  wasn't  well,  and 
slipped  out  of  it." 

As  the  dog  was  now  far  ahead,  Ben  hastened  to 
overtake  him,  and  Justin  rode  on,  thinking  of  Ben, 
of  Lucy,  and  of  William  Sanders.  Ben's  easy  disre 
gard  of  certain  things  he  had  been  taught  to  consider 
essentials  troubled  him.  He  wanted  to  think  well 
of  Ben. 

When  Justin  learned  the  outcome  of  the  contro 
versy  between  Davison  and  Sanders  he  was  some 
what  astonished.  Sanders'  truculence  had  made  him 
think  the  man  would  persist  in  his  demands;  but 
Sanders  had  agreed  to  fence  his  own  land,  if  Davi 
son  would  but  give  him  a  right  of  way  to  it. 

Within  a  week  Justin  understood  why.  Sanders, 
visiting  the  ranch-house  to  see  Davison,  had  also 
seen  Lucy.  He  became  a  familiar  visitor,  where  his 
presence  was  not  desired.  If  Lucy  rode  out,  William 
Sanders  invariably  chanced  to  be  in  the  trail  going 
in  the  same  direction.  If  she  remained  at  home  he 
came  to  the  house  to  get  Davison's  advice  as  to  the 
best  manner  of  constructing  a  fence,  and  Lucy's 
advice  concerning  the  proper  furnishing  of  a  dug-out 
for  a  single  man  who  expected  to  live  alone  and  do 
his  own  cooking. 

Lucy  came  to  Justin  with  the  burden  of  her  woes. 

"  He  follows  me  round  all  the  time,  just  as  if  he 
were  my  dog !  " 

"  You  ought  to  feel  flattered,"  said  Justin,  though 


William  Sanders 

he  was  himself  highly  indignant.  "  I  don't  suppose 
you  want  me  to  say  anything  to  him  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no — no !  "  she  gasped,  terrified  by  the  threat 
concealed  behind  the  words. 

"  I've  noticed  he  hasn't  come  near  me  since  our 
meeting  down  by  the  line  fence.  He  told  me  then 
that  he  wanted  to  have  a  talk  about  old  times,  but  he 
hasn't  seemed  in  any  hurry  to  begin  it." 

As  Justin  rode  away  in  an  angry  mood  Lucy  Davi- 
son  looked  at  his  receding  figure  with  some  degree 
of  uneasiness.  Justin  had  on  a  few  occasions  showed 
a  decidedly  inflammable  temper.  Ordinarily  mild  in 
word  and  manner,  borrowing  much  of  that  mildness 
doubtless  from  Clayton,  when  he  gave  way  to  a  sud 
den  spasm  of  rage  it  was  likely  to  carry  him  beyond 
the  bounds  of  reason. 

The  provocation  came  in  a  most  unexpected,  and 
at  the  time  inexplicable,  way.  Justin,  riding  along 
the  trail  by  the  stream,  saw  Lucy  come  out  from  the 
shadows  of  the  young  cottonwoods  near  Sloan  Jas 
per's  and  walk  in  his  direction,  as  if  to  join  him. 
The  sight  of  her  there  filled  his  sky  with  brightness 
and  the  music  of  singing  birds.  He  pricked  up  his 
broncho  and  turned  it  from  the  trail. 

As  he  did  so  he  beheld  William  Sanders  appear 
round  the  end  of  the  cotton  wood  grove,  mounted  on 
one  of  his  big,  raw-boned  horses.  Riding  up  to 
Lucy,  Sanders  slipped  from  his  saddle  and  walked 
along  by  her  side.  Justin's  anger  burned.  It  was 
apparent  to  him,  great  as  was  the  separating  dis 
tance,  that  Sanders'  presence  and  words  were  dis 
tasteful  to  her.  She  stopped  and  seemed  about  to 

53 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

turn  back  to  the  grove.  Justin  saw  Sanders  put  out 
his  hand  as  if  to  detain  her.  As  he  did  so  she 
stooped;  then  she  screamed,  and  fell  forward,  ap 
parently  to  avoid  him. 

Justin  drove  his  broncho  from  a  trot  into  a  wild 
gallop.  His  anger  increased  to  smoking  rage.  It 
passed  to  ungovernable  fury,  when  he  beheld  San 
ders  catch  the  screaming  girl  in  his  arms,  lift  her  to 
the  back  of  his  horse,  and  scramble  up  behind  her 
in  the  saddle.  Justin  yelled  at  him. 

"  Stop — stop,  you  villain !  " 

In  utter  disregard  of  him  and  his  shouted  com 
mand  Sanders  plunged  his  spurs  into  the  flanks  of 
his  big  horse,  and  began  to  ride  away  from  the  cot- 
tonwoods  at  top  speed.  Lucy  lay  limp  in  his  arms. 

"  I'll  have  his  life !  "  Justin  cried,  longing  now 
for  one  of  the  cowboy  revolvers  he  had  made  it  a 
practice,  on  the  advice  of  Clayton,  never  to  carry; 
and  he  drove  the  broncho  into  furious  pursuit  of  the 
big  horse  that  was  bearing  Lucy  and  Sanders  away. 

The  light,  clean-limbed  broncho,  unimpeded  by  a 
cumbersome  double  weight,  began  to  gain  in  the 
mad  race.  Justin  ploughed  its  sides  mercilessly  with 
the  spurs,  struck  it  with  his  hands,  and  yelled  at  it, 
to  increase  its  speed. 

"  Go,  go !  "  he  cried ;  "  we  must  catch  that  scoun 
drel  quick!" 

His  line  of  action  when  that  was  accomplished 
was  not  formulated,  further  than  that  he  knew  he 
would  hurl  himself  on  Sanders,  tear  him  from  the 
saddle,  and  punish  him  as  it  seemed  he  deserved. 

Steadily  the  separating  distance  was  decreased. 

54 


William  Sanders 

Sanders  still  sent  the  big  horse  on,  almost  without  a 
backward  glance.  He  held  Lucy  tightly  in  his 
arms.  Apparently  she  had  fainted,  for  Justin  could 
not  observe  that  she  struggled  to  release  herself. 

Again  Justin  bellowed  a  command  to  Sanders  to 
halt  He  was  close  upon  the  big  horse  now.  San 
ders  turned  in  his  saddle  heavily,  for  the  weight  of 
the  girl  impeded  his  movements.  Justin  fancied  he 
could  see  the  man's  little  eyes  glitter,  as  they  did  that 
day  when  he  delivered  his  ultimatum  to  Davison. 

"  You  go  to  hell !  "  he  bellowed  back. 

The  momentary  slacking  of  his  rein  caused  his 
horse  to  stumple,  and  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

Justin  galloped  up  in  an  insanity  of  blazing  wrath. 
Lucy,  hurled  from  the  back  of  the  horse  with  San 
ders,  sprang  up  with  a  cry,  and  ran  toward  Justin. 
Sanders,  having  picked  himself  up  uninjured,  stared 
at  her.  His  flushed  face  whitened  and  his  little  eyes 
showed  a  singular  and  ominous  gleam. 

"  Take  her/'  he  said,  hoarsely ;  "  damn  you,  take 
her — I  was  doin'  the  best  I  could !  " 

Lucy's  face  was  white — piteously  white ;  her  dry 
hot  eyes  gushed  with  tears,  and  a  sob  choked  in  her 
throat. 

"  Justin — Justin,  it  was  not — his  fault — nothing 
he  did ;  it  was  the  snake ;  see,  it  bit  me,  here !  "  She 
thrust  forward  her  hand.  "  Near  the  wrist,  there  ; 
and1 — and  it  is  swelling  fast,  fast !  We — we  must — 
get  to  Doctor  Clayton's  quick — quick!" 

Justin  staggered  under  the  revulsion  of  feeling. 
He  caught  the  shaking  and  terrified  girl  in  his  arms. 

"  Help  me — get  her  into  the  saddle,  Sanders/'  he 

55 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

begged,  stammering  the  words.  "  And' — and  I  ask 
your  pardon !  Later  I  will  tell  you  what  I — but  now 
I  need  you  to — " 

Sanders  sprang  to  his  assistance. 

"  Better  take  my  horse ;  he's  bigger !  " 

"  The  broncho  is  faster,"  said  Justin.  "  That's 
right.  Now — that's  right !  "  „ 

He  climbed  shakily  into  the  saddle.  He  felt  his 
very  brain  reeling.  Then  the  broncho  leaped  for 
ward.  Sanders  struck  it  a  smart  blow  to  hurry  it 
on;  and  stood  looking  at  them,  as  they  galloped 
wildly  on  toward  Clayton's,  which  had  been  his  own 
destination. 

"  Damn  him !  "  he  cried  hoarsely.  His  little  eyes 
glittered  and  his  lips  foamed.  "  I  was  doin'  the  best 
I  could,  and  I  would  have  made  it  all  right."  He 
clenched  his  fists.  "  I  would  'a'  been  his  friend — and 
helped  him ;  but  now — " 

The  sentence,  the  threat,  died,  gurgling,  in  his 
throat. 

As  for  Justin,  he  had  no  thought  now  but  to  reach 
Doctor  Clayton's  in  the  quickest  time  possible.  He 
did  not  spare  the  broncho.  Yet,  even  in  these  min 
utes  of  whirling  excitement,  when  anxiety,  fright, 
love,  chagrin,  and  regret,  fought  within  him  for  the 
mastery,  he  did  not  forget  some  of  the  things  learned 
of  Clayton.  He  took  out  his  handkerchief,  rolled  it 
into  a  cord  with  hands  and  teeth,  and  with  hands 
and  teeth  knotted  it  round  the  bitten  arm  just  above 
the  two  small  punctures  made  by  the  teeth  of  the 
rattlesnake. 

The  arm  was  already  swollen,  and  he  thought  it 

56 


William  Sanders 

was  becoming  discolored.  At  times  burning  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes  in  a  way  to  blind  him  and  keep 
him  from  seeing  anything  clearly.  Lucy  lay  in  his 
arms  as  if  dead.  For  aught  he  knew  she  might 
even  then  be  dying.  The  poison  of  the  rattlesnake 
had  been  injected  near  the  great  artery  of  the  wrist, 
as  she  stooped  in  her  embarrassment  to  pluck  a 
flower,  and  it  would  be  speedy  in  its  malignant 
effects.  With  that  terrible  fear  upon  him,  Justin 
blamed  himself  ceaselessly  for  the  delay  he  had 
wrought  in  the  mistaken  notion  that  Sanders  was 
acting  with  sinister  intent.  If  that  brief  delay  should 
aid  to  a  fatal  result  he  knew  he  should  go  mad  or 
kill  himself. 

When  Lucy  stirred,  or  moaned,  he  bent  over  her 
with  wild  words  of  inquiry.  Her  eyes  were  closed, 
and  she  was  very  white. 

"  We  are  almost  there — almost  there !  "  he  cried. 

Yet  how  long  the  distance  seemed ! 

Clayton  came  to  the  door,  when  he  heard  the  clat 
ter  of  hoofs.  He  wore  a  faded  smoking  jacket  and 
had  a  black  skull  cap  perched  on  the  top  of  his  head. 
His  half  lounging  manner  changed  when  he  saw  the 
trembling  broncho,  dripping  sweat  and  panting  with 
labored  breath  from  the  strain  of  its  terrible  run,  and 
saw  Justin  climbing  heavily  out  of  the  saddle  with 
Lucy.  When  her  feet  touched  the  ground  she  stood 
erect,  but  tottered,  clinging  weakly  to  Justin's  arm. 
She  made  a  brave  effort  to  walk,  as  Clayton  hurried 
to  her  side.  He  saw  the  knotted  handkerchief  and 
the  swollen  arm,  and  knew  what  had  happened. 

"  Into  the  house,"  he  said,  tenderly  supporting 

57 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

her.  "  Don't  be  frightened,  Lucy — don't  be  fright 
ened!  Justin,  help  me  on  the  other  side — ah,  that's 
right!  A  little  girl  was  here  only  the  other  day, 
from  the  Purgatoire,  who  had  been  bitten  hours  be 
fore,  and  I  had  her  all  right  in  a  little  while.  So, 
there's  really  nothing  to  be  alarmed  about." 

Clayton's  cheering  words  were  a  stimulant.  Yet 
the  battle  was  not  fought  out.  Before  victory  was 
announced,  word  had  gone  to  the  ranch-house  and  to 
Jasper's.  Philip  Davison  came,  with  Harkness  and 
Pearl  Newcome,  and  Mary  Jasper  rode  in  on  her 
pony,  wild-eyed  and  tremulous.  Among  others  who 
arrived  was  William  Sanders. 

Justin  found  him  in  the  yard,  out  by  the  grass- 
grown  cellar,  where  he  stood  in  a  subdued  manner, 
holding  the  reins  of  his  raw-boned  horse.  His  man 
ner  changed  and  his  little  eyes  burned  when  he  saw 
Justin. 

"  I  don't  keer  to  have  you  speak  to  me,"  he  said, 
abruptly.  "  I  reckon  from  this  on  our  ways  lays  in 
different  directions.  I  don't  know  what  you  thought 
I  was  up  to,  but  I  was  doin'  the  best  I  could  to  git 
that  girl  to  this  place  in  a  hurry.  You  chipped  in. 
I  s'pose  you  think  it  was  all  right,  and  that  you 
helped  matters  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  asked  your  pardon,  and  I  ask  it 
again.  I  see  now  that  I  was  a  fool.  We'll  forget 
the  whole  thing,  if  you're  willing." 

Justin  held  out  his  hand  in  an  amicable  manner. 

Sanders  disdained  to  take  it. 

"  I'm  not  willin'  to  fergit  it,  myself.  I  wanted  to 
think  well  of  you,  rememberin'  when  I  first  come  to 

58 


William  Sanders 

this  house,  and  some  other  things,  but  that's  past. 
You  made  me  look  and  feel  cheaper  than  thirty  cents 
Mexican,  and  I  ain't  expectin'  to  fergit  it." 

He  turned  away,  and  walked  along  the  edge  of 
the  old  cellar,  leading  his  horse.  That  William  San 
ders  had  in  him  all  the  elements  of  a  vicious  hater 
was  shown  then,  and  many  times  afterward.  He  did 
not  speak  to  Justin  again  that  day;  and  when  the 
announcement  came  that  Clayton  had  won  his  hard 
fight  and  Lucy  was  on  the  high  road  to  recovery,  he 
mounted  and  rode  away. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AND  MARY  WENT  TO  DENVER 

MARY  JASPER  did  not  know  that  she  went 
to  Denver  because  she  had  read  Pearl 
Newcome's  romances ;  but  so  it  was.  She 
was  in  love  with  Ben,  and  expected  to  become  his 
wife  by  and  by,  but  her  day-dreams  were  of  con 
quests  and  coronets. 

The  alluringly  beautiful  lace  of  Sibyl  had  reap 
peared  in  Paradise  Valley.  On  her  first  visit,  long 
before,  Sibyl  had  marked  the  rare  dark  beauty  of 
Mary  Jasper.  Mary  was  now  a  fair  flower  bursting 
into  rich  bloom,  and  wherever  a  fair  flower  grows 
some  covetous  hand  is  stretched  forth  to  pluck  it. 

Though  Sibyl  had  flung  Curtis  Clayton  aside  with 
as  little  compunction  as  if  his  pure  heart  were  no 
more  than  the  gold  on  the  draggled  wings  of  the 
butterfly  crushed  in  the  road,  curiosity  and  vanity 
had  drawn  her  again  and  again  to  the  little  rail 
road  town  at  the  base  of  the  flat-topped  mountain. 
There  in  the  home  of  an  acquaintance  she  had 
found  means  to  gratify  her  curiosity  concerning  the 
life  led  by  Clayton,  and  could  feed  her  vanity  with 
the  thought  that  he  had  immured  himself  because 
of  her. 

60 


And  Mary  Went  to  Denver 

Twice  she  had  seen  him,  having  taken  rides 
through  the  valley  for  the  purpose ;  once  beholding 
him  from  afar,  watching  him  as  he  strolled  near  the 
willows  by  the  stream,  unconscious  of  her  surveil 
lance,  his  bent  left  arm  swinging  as  he  walked.  On 
the  second  occasion  they  had  met  face  to  face  in  the 
trail,  while  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  town  to  inspect 
some  books  he  had  ordered  conditionally.  Sibyl  was 
on  a  mettlesome  bay,  and  he  on  his  quick-stepping 
buckskin  broncho.  She  towered  above  him  from 
the  back  of  the  larger  horse.  He  lifted  his  hat  with 
a  gentle  gesture,  flushing,  and  holding  the  reins 
tightly  in  his  stiff  left  hand. 

"  You  are  looking  well !  "  she  cried  gaily.  It 
touched  her  to  know  that  he  still  carried  himself 
erect,  that  he  was  still  a  handsome,  pleasant-eyed 
man,  whom  any  woman  might  admire.  "  And  really 
I've  been  thinking  you  were  moping  down  here,  anH 
suffering  from  loneliness  and  hopeless  love !  " 

"  Love  is  no  longer  hopeless,  when  it  is  dead !" 
he  declared,  voicing  an  indifference  he  did  not  feel. 

Her  light  laugh  fell  like  the  sting  of  a  whip. 

"  Oh,  dear  me!  Is  it  so  serious  as  that?  But  of 
course  I  don't  believe  anything  you  say.  Love  is  a 
bright  little  humming-bird  of  a  boy,  who  never  dies. 
Truly,  it  must  be  lonesome  down  here,  in  this  poky 
place.  I  can't  understand  why  you  stay  here.  You 
might  come  to  Denver !  "  She  looked  at  him  archly, 
half  veiling  her  dark  eyes  with  their  lustrous  lashes, 
while  her  horse  pawed  fretfully  at  the  bank.  "  I 
mean  it,  Curtis.  You  could  be  as  far  from  me  in 

61 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

Denver  as  you  are  down  here,  if  you  wished  to  be. 
You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could,"  he  said,  and  though  his 
voice  showed  pain  it  showed  resolution.  "  I  find 
this  a  very  good  place.  I  like  the  quiet." 

"  So  that  no  one  will  ever  trouble  you  while  you're 
studying  or  writing!  You'll  be  a  great  author  or 
scientist  some  day,  I  don't  doubt." 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  Well,  good  bye,  Curtis.  I'm  not  so  bad  as  I 
seem,  perhaps;  you  don't  see  any  horns  or  cloven 
hoof  about  me,  do  you?"  She  waved  her  hand. 
"  And  I'm  glad  to  know  you're  looking  so  well,  and 
are  so  contented  and  happy !  " 

She  gave  her  horse  a  cut  with  her  riding  whip  and 
galloped  away. 

How  many  more  times  Sibyl  Dudley  (she  had 
taken  her  maiden  name)  came  to  the  little  town  by 
the  mountain  Curtis  Clayton  did  not  know,  and 
never  sought  to  discover ;  but  one  day  he  was  almost 
startled,  when  Justin  brought  him  news  that  Mary 
Jasper  had  accompanied  Sibyl  to  Denver,  and  was  to 
remain  there  with  her. 

Clayton  at  once  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  up 
the  valley  in  the  waning  afternoon,  to  where  Sloan 
Jasper's  house  squatted  by  the  stream  in  the  midst 
of  a  green  plume  of  cottonwoods  of  his  own  plant 
ing.  He  found  Jasper  in  a  stormy  temper.  There 
had  been  heavy  August  rains  and  a  cloud-burst. 
The  sluggish  stream  had  overleaped  its  banks, 
smearing  the  alfalfa  fields  with  sticky  yellow  mud 
and  a  tangle  of  weedy  drift,  in  addition  to  softening 

62 


And  Mary  Went  to  Denver 

the  soil  until  it  was  a  spongy  muck.  Hundreds  of 
cattle  had  ploughed  through  the  softened  soil  during 
the  night,  for  the  storm  had  torn  out  a  section  of 
fence  and  let  them  drift  into  the  cultivated  area  of 
the  valley.  Standing  with  Jasper  was  Clem  Ark- 
wright. 

"  Glorious,  sublime ! "  Arkwright  was  saying. 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  stood  in  reverent 
attitude  before  the  lighted  mountain,  a  young,  red- 
faced,  pudgy  man,  with  thick  mustache.  Though 
Sloan  Jasper  was  not  gifted  with  keen  discernment 
he  felt  the  attitude  to  be  that  of  the  Pharisee  pro 
claiming  his  own  excellence  rather  than  that  of  his 
Maker.  Arkwright  seemed  to  be  saying  to  him, 
"  Behold  one  who  has  been  endowed  with  a  capacity 
which  you  lack,  the  capacity  to  appreciate  and  enjoy 
this  sublime  picture !  " 

All  the  way  up  the  valley  trail  Curtis  Clayton  had 
been  delighting  in  the  beauty  of  that  evening  scene. 
The  misty  clouds  lingering  after  the  storm  had  hung 
white  draperies  about  the  wide  shoulders  of  the 
mountain.  Into  these  the  descending  sun  had  hurled 
a  sheaf  of  fire-tipped  arrows,  and  straightway  the 
white  draperies  had  burned  red  in  streaks  and  the 
whole  top  of  the  mountain  had  flamed.  The  colors 
were  fading  now. 

"  Glorious,  sublime !  "  Arkwright  repeated. 

"  The  sunlight  on  that  mountain  don't  interest  me 
a  little  bit,  Arkwright,"  said  Jasper,  with  curt 
emphasis ;  "  what  I  want  to  know  is  how  I'm  going 
to  protect  myself?  You  say  there  ain't  any  herd 
law.  You're  a  justice-of-the-peace,  and  I  reckon  a 

63 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

lawyer,  or  a  half  of  a  one.  We  can  have  a  herd  law 
passed,  can't  we?  And  what's  to  keep  me  from 
shootin'  them  steers  when  I  catch  'em  in  here? 
Powder  and  lead  air  cheap,  and  that's  what  I'll  do ; 
and  then  I'll  let  Davison  do  the  suin'.  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  much,  and  he'll  find  it  hard  work  to  git  blood 
out  of  a  turnip.  Let  him  do  the  suin',  and  see  if  he 
can  collect  damages ;  you  say  I  can't." 
"  You're  hopeless,  Jasper ! 

'  'A  primrose  by  the  river's  brim, 

A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him — 

And  it  was  nothing  more ! '  " 

Arkwright  made  the  quotation  and  sighed,  as  Clay 
ton  rode  up.  "  But  see  the  fading  light  on  those 
clouds!  Was  there  ever  anything  like  it?  What 
does  it  make  you  think  of  ?  " 

"  It  makes  me  think  that  if  I  had  my  way  I  could 
improve  on  nature  a  bit  in  this  valley;  I  wouldn't 
send  all  the  rain  in  a  bunch  and  jump  the  river  out 
of  its  banks  and  roll  it  over  everything,  but  distribute 
it  a  little  through  some  of  the  other  months  of  the 
year." 

Arkwright  turned  his  pudgy  form  about. 

"  Ah,  Doctor !  Glad  to  see  you.  You  ought  to 
get  over  to  the  town  oftener.  You  wouldn't  care  to 
ride  up  this  evening,  I  suppose?  The  sunlight  is  go 
ing,  and  I  must  be  going,  too." 

Clayton  did  not  care  to  ride  to  town.  When  Ark 
wright  was  gone  he  questioned  Jasper  concerning 
the  occasion  of  his  visit. 

64 


And  Mary  Went  to  Denver 

"  I  reckon  he  come  down  for  a  word  with  Ben 
Davison;  I  don't  know  what  else.  He  and  Ben  air 
gittin'  thick  as  fleas  lately.  It's  my  opinion  that 
Ben's  gamblin'  away  his  wages  up  there  in  the  town 
with  him,  but  I  don't  know;  and  I  don't  care.  I'd 
be  glad  to  have  both  of  'em  keep  away  from  me. 
Look  at  that  millet,  Doctor ;  just  look  at  it !  Ruined 
by  Davison's  cattle;  and  Arkwright  tells  me  I  can't 
do  anything,  because  there  ain't  any  herd  law  in 
this  county.  But  I  can  shoot  'em ;  and  I'll  do  it  next 
time  they  git  in  here,  see  if  I  don't." 

Clayton  had  heard  Jasper  rave  in  that  way  before, 
and  nothing  had  ever  come  of  it.  Other  settlers  had 
raved  in  the  same  manner,  and  then  realized  their 
helplessness.  Looking  into  Jasper's  angry  face,  he 
tried  now  to  speak  of  Mary. 

"  I  hear  that  your  daughter  has  gone  to  Denver, 
Mr.  Jasper!" 

Jasper  drew  himself  up,  forgetful  for  the  moment 
of  his  millet.  A  look  of  pride  and  pain  overspread 
his  hairy  face. 

"  Yes,  she's  gone  there  to  stay  awhile  with  Mrs. 
Dudley.  I  didn't  want  her  to,  but  she  would  go ;  it 
makes  it  mighty  lonesome  here,  but  she'll  be  happier 
up  there,  I  reckon.  Mrs.  Dudley  took  a  likin'  to 
Mary,  and  wants  to  give  her  a  better  chance  fer  an 
ejication  and  other  things  than  she  can  have  here. 
So  I  reckon  it's  all  right,  though  I  didn't  see  at  first 
how  I  could  git  along  without  her." 

All  at  once  Clayton's  heart  seemed  to  shrivel  and 
shrink.  He  fumbled  with  the  yellow  mane  of  the 
broncho  and  with  the  reins  that  swung  against  its 

65 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

neck.  When  he  spoke  after  a  little,  trying  to  go  on, 
his  voice  was  husky. 

"  That  woman  is — " 

"  Yes,  I  allow  Mrs.  Dudley  is  a  fine  woman !  " 

Clayton's  resolution  failed  utterly. 

"  And  she's  smart,"  Jasper  declared,  "  smart  as  a 
steel-trap;  when  she  talked  with  me  about  takin' 
Mary,  and  what  she  could  do  fer  her,  I  could  see  that. 
She's  mighty  good-lookin',  too;  though  I  don't 
think  anybody  can  come  up  in  looks  to  my  Mary.  I 
wisht  you  could  have  seen  her  with  some  of  her  new 
fixin's  on,  which  Mrs.  Dudley  bought  fer  her.  She 
was  certainly  handsome.  And  she's  goin'  to  enjoy 
herself  there,  I  don't  doubt.  I've  already  had  a  let 
ter  from  her,  tellin'  me  how  happy  she  is.  I  reckon 
I  ought  to  be  willin'  fer  her  to  have  things  her 
mother  never  had,  fer  she's  fit  fer  it,  and  not  have  to 
slave  as  her  mother  did,  and  as  I've  always  done. 
Yes,  I  reckon  I'm  glad  she's  gone ;  though  'tis  a  bit 
lonesome  here,  fer  I  ain't  got  anybody  with  me  at 
all  now,  you  see." 

Though  Curtis  Clayton  had  visited  Sloan  Jasper 
for  the  express  purpose  of  uttering  a  warning 
against  Sibyl,  he  permitted  Jasper  to  talk  on,  and  the 
warning  words  remained  unsaid.  Jasper  was  inex- 
pressibily  lonely,  now  that  his  daughter  was  gone; 
yet  it  was  plain  that  he  would  not  call  her  back,  and 
equally  plain  that  he  knew  she  would  not  return  if  he 
called  never  so  loudly.  And  he  was  trusting  that 
the  thing  he  could  not  help  was  the  very  best  thing 
for  the  child  he  loved.  Clayton  felt  that  he  could  not 

66 


And  Mary  Went  to  Denver 

stir  up  in  the  heart  of  this  man  a  useless,  peace-de 
stroying,  and  perhaps  a  groundless,  distrust. 

So  he  rode  away  as  the  night  shadows  were  fall 
ing,  and  gathered  a  great  contempt  for  himself  as 
he  returned  slowly  homeward.  He  had  no  right  to 
judge  Sibyl,  and  possibly,  very  probably,  misjudge 
her,  he  thought;  yet  he  had  a  fear,  amounting 
almost  to  conviction,  that  she  was  not  a  woman  to 
whom  should  be  given  the  charge  and  training  of 
such  a  girl  as  Mary  Jasper.  That  fear  had  sent  him 
to  Jasper ;  his  retreat  seemed  a  cowardly  flight. 

As  for  Mary,  she  was  childishly  happy  in  Den 
ver.  The  only  present  cloud  on  the  sky  of  her  life 
was  that  her  father  had  not  really  wished  her  to  go. 
He  had  objected  stoutly  at  first,  but  ever  since  her 
mother's  departure  from  the  earthly  Paradise,  which 
had  been  full  of  all  manner  of  hard  labor,  to  that 
upper  and  better  one  where,  her  simple  faith  had 
assured  her,  she  should  toil  no  more,  Mary  had  con 
trived  to  do  pretty  much  as  she  pleased.  Her  head 
was  filled  with  romantic  ideas,  garnered  from  Pearl 
Newcome's  much-read  novels.  In  this  matter,  as  in 
all  others,  she  had  taken  her  own  way,  like  a  high- 
headed  young  horse  clamping  the  bit  tightly  be 
tween  its  teeth  and  choosing  its  road  in  defiance  of 
the  guiding  rein.  And  her  father  had  submitted, 
when  he  could  do  nothing  else,  had  admired  and 
praised  her  in  the  wonderful  new  clothing  provided 
for  her  by  Mrs.  Dudley,  and  had  driven  her  to  the 
station  with  her  litttle  trunk  packed  with  pretty 
trifles.  He  had  kissed  her  good  bye  there,  bravely 
enough,  with  hardly  a  quiver  in  his  voice,  and  so 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

she  had  gone  away.  She  recalled  him  often  now, 
standing,  a  pathetic  figure,  in  his  cheap  clothing, 
waving  his  hand  to  her  as  she  looked  from  the  car 
window  to  throw  a  kiss  as  a  final  farewell. 

But  this  picture  seldom  troubled  her  long.  Den 
ver  was  too  attractive  to  the  girl  who  had  scarcely  in 
her  whole  life  seen  a  place  larger  than  the  little 
town  at  the  base  of  the  familiar  flat-topped  moun 
tain.  And  what  a  gay,  care-free  life  Denver  led, 
as  viewed  by  her  through  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Dudley! 
This  was  Vanity  Fair,  though  Mary  had  never  even 
heard  that  name.  Mrs.  Dudley  kept  a  carriage, 
which  rolled  with  shining  wheels  through  the  Den 
ver  streets  to  the  merry  tattoo  of  trotting  hoofs  and 
the  glint  of  silver-mounted  harness.  A  driver  sat 
on  the  box  in  blue  livery,  and  the  easy  sway  and 
jounce  of  the  springs  made  her  feel  as  if  she  were 
being  lifted  forward  on  velvet  cushions. 

Young  men  and  old  men  turned  about  to  admire 
her  and  the  woman  who  sat  by  her  side,  as  the  car 
riage  rolled  along.  Women  looked  at  them,  too, 
sometimes  with  shining  eyes  of  envy;  looked  at  the 
carriage,  at  the  beautiful  clothing,  and  the  two 
bright  faces.  Mary  wore  jewels  now,  and  Sibyl  had 
roped  her  slender  neck  with  a  heavy  gold  thread 
which  bore  a  neat  little  locket  at  its  end.  Into  that 
locket  Mary  had  put  the  gnarled  wisp  of  hair  which 
in  a  moment  of  devotion  at  home  she  had  clipped 
from  her  father's  head.  To  wear  it  now  was  some 
thing  of  a  penance  for  leaving  him  in  his  loneliness. 

Sibyl  had  a  "  set,"  which  was  very  gay  and  over 
flowed  with  parties  where  cards  were  played  for 

68 


A  Revelation  of  Character 

favors,  and  in  little  dances  which  were  said  to  be 
very  "  select."  Gay  debonair  men  and  handsomely 
dressed  women  attended  these  dances  and  parties 
and  made  life  one  never-ending  round  of  merriment. 
Mary  thought  she  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
really  live  until  now.  Sibyl  delighted  in  her;  the 
girl's  fresh  flower-like  face  and  inevitable  gaucherie 
set  off  and  added  to  Sibyl's  own  attractiveness. 

Mary  wrote  to  her  father  with  religious  regu 
larity  every  Sunday.  Sunday  was  a  religious  day, 
and  the  writing  of  a  letter  to  her  father  was  per 
formed  almost  as  a  sacred  duty,  so  that  Sunday 
seemed  the  appropriate  day  for  it.  She  wrote  also 
to  Ben  Davison,  more  fully  than  to  her  father,  de 
scribing  to  him  the  joys  of  her  new  mode  of  life, 
and  appealing  to  him  not  to  be  "  savage  "  about  her 
comments  concerning  some  of  the  young  men  she 
met. 

"  Dear  Ben,"  she  said  in  one  of  her  letters,  "  Sibyl 
Dudley  is  a  perfect  darling.  I  am  surprised  that 
you  didn't  know  she  had  been  married.  I  thought 
you  knew  all  the  time.  She  is  divorced  now,  I  think, 
though  she  never  says  anything  to  me  about  it.  I'm 
sure  there  must  be  a  beautiful  romance  in  her  life, 
as  lovely  as  any  of  those  Pearl  reads,  for  sometimes 
when  she  thinks  I'm  busy  she  sits  for  a  long  time 
perfectly  silent,  as  if  thinking  of  something  serious. 
But  in  spite  of  that  she  is  as  gay  and  happy  as  can 
be.  Yes,  she  is  a  darling;  and  so  are  you,  you  old 
grumpy,  grizzly  bear !  I  wish  you  could  send  me  a 
pony — not  a  broncho!  It  would  be  such  fun  to  go 
galloping  on  my  own  pony  through  the  streets.  I 

69 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

ride  a  good  deal,  but  these  Denver  horses  are  such 
big  things.  Mrs.  Dudley  is  a  superb  horse 
woman.  Is  that  right,  horsewoman? — it  sounds 
funny,  worse  than  cowboy.  Sometimes  when  we 
meet  people  she  introduces  me  as  her  niece,  and  the 
people  smile  and  say  how  much  we  look  alike.  Isn't 
that  funny,  too  ?  " 

Sibyl  abounded  in  "  charities/'  and  had  numbers 
of  feeble  men  and  old  women  who  devoutly,  or 
otherwise,  blest  her  shadow  as  she  passed.  Under 
her  tutelage  Mary  also  found  it  pleasant  to  play 
Lady  Bountiful.  It  gave  her  quite  as  much  com 
fort  as  the  penning  of  that  Sunday  letter  to  her 
father.  Her  father  had  lived  a  saving  and  scrimp 
ing  life  and  had  never  given  anything  to  anybody, 
so  that  to  Mary  this  was  an  entirely  new  and  pleas 
ing  phase  of  life's  conduct.  It  made  her  feel  so 
superior  to  bestow  with  unstinting  hand,  and  be 
blest  for  the  largess,  as  if  the  donor  were  a  verita 
ble  gift-showering  angel,  or  luxury-distributing 
fairy,  with  red  gold  on  her  wings. 

All  in  all,  Mary  found  Denver  to  be  a  place  of 
unheard-of  delights,  in  which,  especially  to  those 
who  were  not  poor  and  in  want,  life  passed  like  one 
of  the  plays  which  she  sometimes  witnessed  from 
a  box  in  the  opera  house,  or  after  the  fashion  of  the 
rollicking  fanfare  of  the  romances  in  Pearl  New- 
come's  wonderful  trunk.  And  it  was  good,  all  of 
it;  much  better  than  Paradise  Valley,  or  even  the 
society  of  Ben  Davison,  though  she  was  sure  that 
she  still  loved  Ben. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  REVELATION  OF  CHARACTER 

WILLIAM  SANDERS  did  not  forget  nor 
forgive. 
He  ceased  to  annoy  Lucy  Davison, 
and  even  in  time  affected  to  overlook  the  humilia 
tion  to  which  he  felt  Justin  had  subjected  him ;  but 
deep  in  his  heart  he  nursed  both  for  Philip  Davison 
and  Justin  an  ineradicable  hate,  which  revealed  it 
self  at  times  in  disputes  fomented  with  the  farmers. 

Sanders'  half- veiled  enmity  troubled  Justin  less 
than  the  discovery  which  came  to  him  one  day  of 
the  innate  dishonesty  of  Ben  Davison's  character. 

Philip  Davison  was  in  one  of  the  bunk  rooms, 
paying  off  his  "  hands,"  when  Justin  and  Ben  ar 
rived  from  the  high  mesa  where  for  a  month  they 
had  been  line-riding  together.  Bronchos  stood  out 
side  on  the  trampled  grass.  Within,  where  the 
walls  above  the  rude  wooden  bunks  were  hung  with 
bridles  and  quirts,  saddles  and  ponchos,  ropes  and 
spurs,  sat  Davison,  at  a  small  unpainted  table,  count 
ing  out  money  to  his  employes  and  keeping  a  record 
of  the  amounts  paid  by  writing  names  and  sums 
with  a  stub  pencil  in  a  soiled  account  book.  Davison 
was  fifty  years  of  age  now,  red-faced,  blue-eyed, 
and  bearded.  Justin  had  learned  to  admire  and  like 

71 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

him,  for  there  were  admirable  traits  in  his  charac 
ter.  Though  he  swore  horribk  oaths  at  times, 
which  he  complained  a  man  had  to  do  if  he  handled 
cattle  and  cowboys,  he  had  generally  been  kind  to 
Justin,  and  he  had  conceived  a  fondness  for  Clayton, 
whom  he  respected  for  his  learning  and  skill  as  a 
physician. 

Having  received  his  wages  from  the  hands  of 
Philip  Davison,  Justin  went  out  behind  the  bunk 
house,  and  was  counting  his  bills  in  the  drizzle  that 
was  falling,  when  Ben  appeared,  his  manner  nervous 
and  his  eyes  shining. 

"  I'm  ahead  this  time!  "  he  said. 

Then,  to  Justin's  astonishment,  he  lifted  one  of 
his  boots,  and  there,  sticking  to  the  muddy  sole,  was 
a  five-dollar  bill.  He  pulled  it  away  with  a  chuckle, 
wiped  off  the  mud  as  well  as  he  could,  and  added 
it  to  the  pile  in  his  hands. 

Justin  stared  at  him,  with  a  look  which  Ben  re 
sented. 

"  Some  money  was  on  the  table  and  the  wind 
flirted  that  bill  to  the  floor.  I  set  my  boot  on  it,  and 
when  I  walked  out  it  walked  out  with  me." 

"You  didn't  do  that!" 

"What's  the  difference?  Father  will  never 
know!  And  he's  got  plenty  more  where  that  came 
from.  He  only  pays  me  beastly  cowboy's  wages, 
when  I'm  his  own  son.  So  I  helped  myself,  when  I 
saw  my  chance." 

Justin's  look  showed  reproof,  and  Ben  flushed  in 
angry  irritation. 

"You'd  tell,  would  you?" 

72 


A  Revelation  of  Character 

"That's  stealing!" 

A  flush  of  red  waved  into  Ben's  face.  Stung  by 
the  inner  knowledge  of  his  wrong,  this  blunt  con 
demnation  roused  the  latent  devil  in  him.  He  leaped 
at  Justin  blindly,  and  struck  him  in  the  face. 

Justin  had  never  fought  any  one  in  his  life,  nor 
could  he  remember  that  he  had  ever  before  been 
struck  in  anger.  But  when  that  blow  fell  on  his 
face  with  stinging  force,  his  head  became  unac 
countably  hot,  he  trembled  violently,  and  with  a 
hoarse  cry  gurgling  from  his  lips  he  sprang  upon 
Ben  and  struck  him  to  the  earth  with  one  blow  of 
his  fist. 

Having  done  that,  he  drew  back,  shaken  and  dis 
mayed.  He  had  knocked  Ben  Davison  down,  when 
but  a  moment  before  they  had  been  friends!  He 
stared  at  Ben,  who  had  dropped  heavily  to  the 
ground.  Already  he  was  remorseful  and  almost 
frightened.  Ben  scrambled  up,  cursing. 

"  I'll  make  you  pay  for  that!  "  he  said,  wiping  a 
speck  of  blood  from  his  trembling  lips  with  his  hand. 

"  It— it  was  your  fault !    I—" 

Philip  Davison  came  round  the  corner  of  the 
building  upon  this  scene,  having  heard  the  blows 
and  the  fall.  He  saw  Ben's  cut  and  quivering  lip, 
his  clothing  wet  and  muddy,  and  Justin  standing 
before  him  with  hot,  flushed  face. 

"  You  struck  Ben?  "  he  cried. 

Ben  was  his  pride. 

Justin  looked  at  him,  after  an  appealing  glance  at 
Ben. 

"  Yes,"  he  acknowledged,  with  humility  and  a 

73 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

'feeling  of  repentant  uneasiness.  He  had  gained 
Ben's  enmity,  and  he  feared  he  had  lost  Philip  Davi- 
son's  regard,  which  he  valued  highly. 

Ben  was  crumpling  together  the  wad  of  bills,  and 
thrust  them  into  his  pocket. 

'  Yes,  he  struck  me,  but  I  hit  him  first,"  he  con 
fessed.  "  We  had  a  little  quarrel,  a  few  words, 
that's  all." 

Though  no  larger  than  Justin,  he  was  older,  and 
it  humiliated  him  to  confess  even  this  much. 

Davison  was  annoyed  and  angry. 

"  Go  into  the  house,  Ben,"  he  commanded ;  "  I'll 
see  you  later." 

When  Ben  was  gone  he  turned  to  Justin. 

"  I've  tried  to  do  right  by  you,  Justin,  and  I've 
liked  your  work;  but  you  must  remember  that  Ben 
is  my  son.  I  can't  think  that  you  had  any  good 
reason  to  strike  him." 

"I  didn't  intend  to  strike  him,"  Justin  urged, 
"  and  I  shouldn't  have  done  so  if  he  hadn't  struck 
me  first." 

'  Well,  I  won't  have  you  two  quarreling  and 
fighting.  Just  remember  that,  will  you?" 

"  He  struck  me  first ! "  said  Justin,  sturdily, 
though  deeply  troubled  by  the  knowledge  that  he 
had  offended  Philip  Davison. 

Davison  followed  Ben  into  the  house,  leaving 
Justin  weak  and  bewildered.  He  had  smothered 
his  sudden  explosive  rage,  yet  he  still  felt  its  influ 
ence.  That  he  could  have  struck  Ben  in  that  way 
seemed  incredible;  yet  he  tried  to  justify  the  deed 

74 


A  Revelation  of  Character 

to  himself.  He  was  about  to  walk  away,  when  Ben 
reappeared  and  came  up  to  him. 

"  Justin,  you're  a  brick,  to  stand  by  a  fellow  that 
way!  You  knocked  me  down,  but  I  don't  hold  it 
against  you,  for  you  can  keep  your  mouth  shut." 

"  You  still  have  that  money?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  I  haven't  changed  my  opinion  about  that !  " 

Ben's  face  reddened  again. 

"  What  if  I  did  keep  it  ?  You  re  fussy,  and  you're 
a  fool!  What  is  my  father's  is  mine,  or  it  will  be 
mine  some  day;  I  just  took  a  little  of  it  ahead  of 
time,  that's  all.  It  will  all  be  mine,  when  he  goes 
over  the  divide." 

Justin  was  horrified.  Ben  had  expressed  reckless 
and  defiant  views  on  many  subjects,  but  nothing  like 
this  flippant  speculation  concerning  his  father's 
death. 

"  I  won't  listen  to  you  when  you  talk  that  way," 
he  declared;  and  he  moved  away. 


75 


CHAPTER  X 

PIPINGS  OF   PAN 

THE  result  of  this  quarrel  was  that  Justin 
was  banished  temporarily  from  the  ranch, 
though  it  was  not  assigned  as  the  reason  for 
his  exile.  Fogg  had  been  forced  to  take  a  flock  of 
sheep  in  payment  for  a  debt  owed  him  by  a  sheep 
man.  The  sheep  were  already  in  Paradise  Valley, 
and  were  to  be  sent  at  once  into  the  mountains. 
Davison  ordered  Justin  to  take  charge  of  these 
sheep,  and  hurried  shepherd  and  flock  into  the  hills, 
while  Lucy  was  temporarily  away  from  home.  Jus 
tin  could  not  rebel  against  this  order  except  men 
tally,  if  he  wished  to  remain  in  Davison's  employ 
ment  and  retain,  or  regain,  his  good-will. 

Before  setting  forth  he  left  a  letter  for  Lucy  with 
Pearl  Newcome,  and  was  sure  she  would  get  it.  Yet 
he  departed  from  the  ranch  with  a  heavy  heart ;  and 
as  he  went  on  his  way  he  questioned  why  he  and 
not  another  had  been  selected  for  this  life  of  lonely 
exile  in  the  mountains.  He  was  almost  sure  it  was 
because  of  his  trouble  with  Ben. 

Justin  was  assisted  in  driving  the  sheep  to  the 
high  altitudes,  where  they  were  to  graze  until  cold 
weather  would  make  it  advisable  to  bring  them  into 


Pipings  of  Pan 

the  lower  foot-hills.  A  sufficient  supply  of  food 
for  a  month  or  more  was  taken  along,  and  he  was 
helped  in  the  work  of  erecting  a  brush-and-pole 
house. 

He  was  well  up  among  the  pines  and  aspens, 
where  the  nights  are  always  cool,  with  often  a  sharp 
frost  even  in  mid-summer.  Snow  banks  were  in 
sight,  and  here  and  there  streams  and  small  lakes 
of  the  purest  ice  water.  Occasionally  a  lordly  elk 
crashed  through  a  grove,  or  came  out  with  such 
suddenness  on  the  lonely  herder  and  his  woolly 
charges  that  it  whistled  and  fled  in  astonishment. 
Black-tailed  deer  passed  frequently  on  the  slopes, 
and  now  and  then  Justin  came  upon  the  track  of  a 
bear.  The  only  animals  he  could  not  love  were  the 
worthless  coyotes,  that  made  life  a  burden  to  him 
and  murdered  sleep  in  their  efforts  to  slay  the 
sheep. 

Of  all,  the  sheep  were  the  most  vexatious  and 
stupid,  having  no  originality  of  impulse,  and  being 
maddeningly,  monotonously  alike.  When  hungry, 
in  the  earlier  part  of  the  day,  they  exhausted  his 
strength  and  that  of  his  dog,  as  he  followed  them, 
while  they  swarmed  everywhere,  nibbling,  nibbling, 
with  a  continual,  nerve-racking  "  baa-a-a !  baa-a-a !  " 
Justin  could  not  wonder  that  sheep-herders  often 
go  mad.  The  sheep  were  more  than  two  thousand 
in  number;  and  to  keep  anything  like  a  count  of 
them,  so  that  he  might  be  sure  that  the  flock  was 
not  being  devastated  by  the  sly  coyotes,  was  trying 
work. 

But  there  were  other  times  when  he  was  given 

77 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

hours  of  lazy  ease,  when  he  could  lie  with  the  faith 
ful  dog  on  the  cool  grass  and  look  up  into  the  cool 
sky;  could  listen  to  the  foaming  plunge  of  the 
mountain  stream,  to  the  fluttered  whisperings  of  the 
aspens  and  the  moanings  of  the  pines,  and  could 
watch  the  flirting  flight  of  the  magpies,  or  the  gam- 
bolings  of  playful  deer. 

So  Justin  had  much  opportunity  for  thought ;  and 
.his  thoughts  and  imaginings  ran  wide  and  far,  with 
Lucy  Davison  and  Doctor  Clayton  not  very  far  from 
both  center  and  periphery  wherever  they  ran  or  flew. 
That  he  had  been  forced  to  come  away  without  a 
parting  word  with  Lucy  troubled  him  sorely. 

He  had  his  mother's  little  Bible  with  him,  con 
taining  the  wisp  of  brown  hair,  and  the  written  fly 
leaf: 

"  Justin,  my  baby-boy,  is  now  six  months  old. 
May  God  bless  and  preserve  him  and  may  he  be 
come  a  good  man." 

He  read  in  it  much,  in  his  leisure;  and  studied 
that  writing  many,  many  times,  thinking  of  his 
mother,  and  wondering  about  his  father.  And  he 
questioned  as  to  what  his  life  probably  would  have 
been  if  his  mother  had  lived,  or  if  he  had  known 
of  his  father.  Yet  he  was  very  well  satisfied  to 
have  it  as  it  had  been  ordered.  It  had  brought  to 
him  Lucy  Davison;  and  he  might  have  missed  her, 
if  fate  had  not  led  him  to  Paradise  Valley  and  kept 
him  there. 

He  was  quite  sure  that  no  father  could  have  done 
more  for  him  than  Clayton,  nor  loved  him  with  a 
more  unselfish  love.  To  the  missionary  preacher, 

78 


Pipings  of  Pan 

Peter  Wingate,  and  to  Curtis  Clayton,  he  acknowl 
edged  that  he  owed  all  he  was  or  could  ever  be.  He 
thought  very  lovingly  of  Clayton,  as  he  lay  on  the 
cool  slopes  looking  into  the  cool  sky. 

And,  indeed,  the  lonely  doctor  had  been  won- 
drously  kind  to  the  boy  whose  life  and  future  had 
been  so  strangely  committed  to  his  keeping.  With 
out  intending  anything  in  particular  beyond  the  im- 
partation  of  knowledge,  he  had  rounded,  on  the 
foundation  laid  by  Peter  Wingate,  a  structure  of 
character  that  combined  singular  sweetness  with 
great  nobility  and  strength,  for  Justin  had  inherited 
from  his  mother  certain  qualities  of  sturdy  resolu 
tion  which  Clayton  himself  lacked.  The  one  great 
blemish,  or  fault,  was  a  quick  and  inflammable  tem 
per,  that  almost  resisted  control. 

Utterly  unaware  of  the  fact  himself,  as  he  lay 
thus  among  his  sheep,  while  his  thoughts  ranged  far 
and  wide,  Justin  was  like  that  ruddy  David,  youth 
ful  son  of  Jesse,  with  whose  life  story,  told  in  his 
mother's  little  Bible,  he  was  so  familiar,  or  like  Saul 
in  his  boyhood  days.  His  lusty  youth,  his  length  of 
limb,  his  shapely  head  covered  with  its  heavy  masses 
of  hair,  his  tanned  strong  face  with  its  kindly,  clear- 
cut  profile,  and  his  steady  unwinking  eyes  that 
looked  into  the  blue  skies  with  color  as  blue,  all 
spoke  of  unrecognized  power. 

He  dreamed  of  the  future,  as  well  as  of  the  past, 
building  cloud  castles  as  unsubstantial  as  the  chang 
ing  clouds  that  floated  above  him.  He  knew  that 
many  of  them  were  but  dreams.  Others  it  seemed 
to  him  might  be  made  to  come  true,  \vith  Lucy  Davi- 

79 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

son  to  help  him.  He  did  not  intend  to  remain  either 
cowboy  or  sheep-herder,  he  was  sure  of  that;  and 
he  did  not  think  he  would  care  to  become  a  doctor, 
like  Clayton.  He  would  like  to  accomplish  great 
things ;  yet  if  he  could  not,  he  would  like  to  accom 
plish  the  small  things  possible  to  him  in  a  manner 
that  should  be  great.  Not  for  his  own  sake — he  felt 
sure  it  was  not  for  his  own  sake — but  for  Lucy  and 
Clayton !  He  wanted  to  be  worthy  of  them  both. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  his  wandering  thoughts 
were  chiefly  occupied  with  Lucy  Davison.  He  de 
lighted  to  recall  those  happy  moments  under  the 
cottonwoods.  Always  in  his  dreams  she  was  true 
to  him,  as  he  was  to  her;  and  she  was  longing  for 
his  letters,  as  he  was  for  hers. 

Naturally,  other  things  and  people  were  often  in 
Justin's  thoughts.  He  thought  of  Philip  Davison, 
of  Ben,  with  whom  he  had  quarreled,  and  of  Mary 
Jasper  and  her  father.  With  a  keen  sense  of  sym 
pathy  he  pictured  Sloan  Jasper  plodding  his  slow 
rounds,  trying  to  satisfy  with  his  horses  and  his 
cows  that  desire  for  loving  companionship  which 
only  the  presence  of  his  daughter  could  satisfy.  He 
marveled  that  Mary  could  leave  her  father  to  that 
life  of  loneliness  for  even  the  gayeties  of  Denver. 
And  thinking  thus,  he  pitied  Mary. 

Often  Justin  lay  under  the  night  sky,  rolled  in 
his  blankets,  when  the  coyotes  were  most  annoying, 
ready  to  leap  up  at  the  first  alarm  given  by  the  dog. 
He  carried  a  revolver  for  use  in  defending  the  sheep 
against  the  coyotes.  This  was  a  case  in  which,  as 
he  knew,  even  Curtis  Clayton  would  approve  of 

80 


Pipings  of  Pan 

slaying.  He  began  to  see  clearly,  too,  in  this  war 
fare  with  the  coyotes,  that  nature,  instead  of  being 
uniformly  kind,  as  Clayton  liked  to  think,  is  often 
pitilessly  cruel,  and  seems  to  be  in  a  state  of  armed 
combat  in  which  there  is  never  the  flutter  of  the 
white  flag  of  truce. 

It  was  the  visualizing  to  him  of  that  age-old  con 
flict  in  which  only  the  fittest  survive.  As  he  looked 
out  upon  this  warring  world,  all  the  animals,  with 
few  exceptions,  seemed  to  be  trying  to  devour  all 
the  others.  The  coyotes  slew  the  sheep,  the  moun 
tain  lions  pulled  down  the  deer,  the  wild  cats  de 
voured  the  birds,  and  for  all  the  fluttering,  flying 
insect  life  the  birds  made  of  the  glorious  turquoise 
skies  an  endless  hell  of  fear. 

Often  there  came  to  Justin  under  the  night  sky 
rare  glimpses  of  the  wild  life  of  the  mountains. 
Playful  antelopes  gamboled  by,  all  unconscious  of 
his  presence,  frisking  and  leaping  in  the  light  of 
early  morning,  or  scampering  in  wild  rushes  of 
fright  when  they  discovered  his  presence  or  the  dog 
gave  tongue;  bucks  clattered  at  each  other  with 
antlered  horns,  or  called  across  the  empty  spaces; 
wild  cat  and  cougar  leaped  the  rocks  with  padded 
footfalls  and  occasionally  pierced  the  still  air  with 
screams  as  startling  in  their  suddenness  as  the  stac 
cato,  Indian-like  clamor  of  the  coyotes.  Always 
wild  cat,  cougar  and  coyote  brought  Justin  from 
beneath  his  blankets  with  every  sense  alert,  and  sent 
the  dog  scurrying  into  the  gloom  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound. 

Clayton's  habits  of  study  and  writing  had  not 

8l 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

been  lost  on  Justin,  and  now  and  then  he  tried  to 
set  down  in  his  little  note  book  some  description  of 
the  things  that  moved  him.  He  composed  letters, 
too,  to  Lucy,  many  letters  which  he  never  meant 
to  send.  In  them  he  told  her  of  his  life  with  the 
sheep,  and  of  how  much  he  loved  her.  Often  these 
letters  were  composed,  but  not  written  at  all. 

In  one  of  those  letters  to  Lucy  which  were  not 
intended,  to  be  sent  he  incorporated  some  of  his 
thoughts  concerning  the  farmers  of  the  valley,  to 
gether  with  a  bit  of  verse.  The  old  hope  of  Peter 
Wingate  had  come  back  to  him  for  the  moment, 
and  he  saw  the  valley  as  Wingate  saw  it  in  his 
dream  of  the  future : 

"The  crooking  plumes  of  the  rice-corn, 

The  sorghum's  emerald  spear, 
The  rustle  of  blue  alfalfa, 

Out  on  this  wild  frontier, 
Whisper  of  coming  thousands, 

Whose  hurrying,  eager  tread 
Shall  change  this  mould  into  kerneled  gold 

And  give  to  the  millions  bread. 

"'Tis  now  but  a  dream  prophetic; 
The  plover  tilts  by  the  stream, 
The  coyote  calls  from  the  hilltop, 
And  the " 

Justin  got  no  further.  The  impossibility  of  the 
fulfillment  of  that  dream  had  come  to  him  as  he 
sought  to  picture  the  present. 

When  the  driver  of  the  "  grub  wagon  "  came 
with  supplies  and  the  news  of  the  ranch,  he  brought 
a  letter  from  Lucy;  and  he  took  away  a  letter  for 
her,  when  he  departed.  The  news  from  home  was 
cheering.  Outwardly  at  least  matters  had  not 

82 


Pipings  of  Pan 

changed  there.  No  one  had  come,  and  no  one  had 
gone,  and  the  usual  work  was  going  on. 

More  than  once  the  driver  came,  and  each  time 
Justin  saw  him  depart  with  unspoken  longing.  He 
would  have  given  much  to  be  privileged  to  go  back 
with  him.  Yet  Justin  was  not  and  had  not  been 
lonely  in  the  ordinary  meaning  of  that  word;  he 
was  lonely  for  the  companionship  of  Lucy  Davison, 
for  the  glance  of  her  brown  eyes,  for  the  music  of 
her  words;  but,  possessing  that  inner  light  of  the 
mind  in  which  Clayton  believed,  it  brightened  his 
isolation  as  with  a  sacred  fire,  filled  the  wooded 
slopes  and  craggy  heights  with  life  and  beauty,  and 
suggested  deep  thoughts  and  deeper  imaginings. 

Filled  with  dreams  and  work,  with  desire  and  ac 
complishment,  the  slow  months  rolled  by.  With 
the  descent  of  the  snow-line  on  the  high  peaks  the 
sheep  were  driven  into  the  foot-hills,  and  then  on 
down  into  the  plain  itself,  where  not  only  grass,  but 
the  various  sages — black,  white,  salt  and  bud  sage — 
together  with  shad-scale  and  browse,  furnished  an 
abundance  of  the  food  they  liked. 

Then  they  were  taken  away,  their  summer  herd 
ing  having  been  a  good  investment  for  Fogg;  and 
Justin  returned  to  Paradise  Valley,  clear-eyed,  stur 
dy,  and  handsomer  even  than  before.  He  had  learned 
well  the  to  him  necessary  lesson  of  patience,  and 
had  tasted  the  joy  of  duty  well  done.  More  than 
all,  he  had  begun  to  find  himself,  and  to  know  that 
childhood  and  youth  had  fallen  from  him,  and  that 
he  was  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  RANGE 

JUSTIN  was  startled  by  the  changes  which  had 
come  to  Paradise  Valley  in  the  closing  weeks 
of  his  long  isolation  in  the  mountains.  Steve 
Harkness  and  Pearl  Newcome  were  married,  and 
Lucy  Davison  had  been  sent  East  to  school.  The 
latter  filled  him  almost  with  a  feeling  of  dismay. 
Among  the  other  changes  to  be  noted  was  that 
William  Sanders  had  written  letters  to  a  number 
of  farmers,  some  of  whom  were  now  in  the  valley 
and  had  taken  government  land  or  purchased  mort 
gaged  quarter-sections. 

Justin  discovered,  in  talks  with  them,  that  these 
men  had  been  neighbors  of  Sanders  on  the  irrigated 
lands  at  Sumner.  They  had  sold  out  there,  as  San 
ders  had  done,  and  having  heard  from  him  of  the 
possibilities  of  Paradise  Valley,  they  had  moved  to 
it,  with  their  families  and  belongings.  Others,  it 
was  reported,  were  coming.  Some  of  them  brought 
a  few  cows,  as  well  as  horses ;  and  before  the  winter 
storms  came  they  erected  cheap  dug-outs  for  them 
selves,  and  prepared  flimsy  shelters  and  cut  wild 
hay  for  their  stock.  It  was  their  intention  to  try 
irrigation. 

Justin  soothed  his  disappointment  at  not  seeing 

84 


The  Tragedy  of  the  Range 

Lucy  Davison  by  writing  many  letters  to  her,  to 
which  she  replied  sparingly.  He  was  away  from 
home  much  of  the  time,  riding  lonely  lines  with 
other  cowboys.  Whenever  he  came  home  and  found 
no  letter  from  Lucy  he  felt  discouraged ;  when  one 
was  there,  he  returned  to  his  work  cheered  and  com 
forted.  As  for  Ben,  Justin  saw  little  of  him.  Davi 
son  kept  them  well  apart,  by  giving  them  separate 
assignments. 

In  the  severest  of  the  winter  storms,  when  the 
grass  of  the  range  had  been  covered  with  snow  for 
many  days,  the  cattle  breached  the  fences,  and 
mingling  with  cattle  from  other  ranches  they  began 
to  roam  over  the  mesas  and  valley,  a  terror  to  the  set 
tlers,  and  as  destructive  as  the  locusts  of  Egypt. 
The  cowboys  could  do  nothing  with  them;  could 
not  hold  them  on  the  open  lines,  and  could  not  re 
pair  the  broken  fences  in  the  bitter  cold  and  the 
blinding  snow.  It  was  a  repetition  in  miniature  of 
the  days  when  the  whole  of  the  Great  Plains  was 
an  open  range,  and  cattle,  shelterless  and  without 
food,  wandered  in  the  winter  storms  in  pitiable  dis 
tress,  dying  by  thousands. 

As  it  was  useless  and  perilous  to  try  to  ride  any 
line,  Justin  and  the  other  cowboys  came  home.  Jus 
tin's  feet  and  hands  were  frosted,  and  he  went  to 
Clayton's,  where  he  remained,  to  have  the  benefit  of 
Clayton's  medical  skill  as  well  as  his  companion 
ship. 

Clayton  was  so  troubled  by  the  sufferings  of  the 
cattle  that  he  could  talk  of  little  else.  From  his 
frost-covered  windows  weary  bands  of  the  starving 

85 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

animals  could  be  seen  ploughing  through  the  drifts. 
In  each  band  the  largest  and  strongest  were  usually 
in  the  lead,  breaking  a  way  through  the  snow;  the 
others  followed,  moving  slowly  and  weakly,  in 
single  file,  across  the  white  wastes,  their  legs  raw 
and  bleeding  from  contact  with  the  cutting  snow- 
crust.  Their  hair  was  so  filled  with  fine  snow  beaten 
in  and  compacted  that  often  they  resembled  snow 
banks,  and  they  were  wild-eyed,  and  gaunt  to  ema 
ciation. 

Now  and  then  a  band  would  turn  on  its  course 
and  move  back  along  the  path  it  had  broken,  eating 
the  frozen  grass  which  the  trampling  had  uncovered. 
Nothing  in  the  way  of  food  came  amiss.  The  dry 
pods  and  stalks  of  the  milk-weed  and  the  heads  of 
thistles  protruding  through  the  snow  were  hungrily 
snatched  at.  Unfenced  stacks  of  wild  hay  prepared 
by  the  farmers  and  settlers  for  their  own  stock, 
disappeared  like  snow  drifts  in  the  spring  sun,  un 
less  the  owners  were  vigilant  and  courageous 
enough  to  beat  back  the  desperate  foragers.  Many 
wild  combats  took  place  between  the  cattle  and  the 
exasperated  farmers,  and  more  than  one  man  es 
caped  narrowly  the  impaling  horns  of  some  infuri 
ated  steer.  It  seemed  cruel  to  drive  the  cattle  from 
the  food  they  so  much  needed,  but  the  farmers  were 
forced  to  it. 

Even  Clayton  and  Justin  found  it  necessary  to 
issue  forth,  armed  with  prodding  pitchforks,  and 
fight  with  the  famishing  cattle  for  the  stack  of  hay 
which  Clayton  had  in  store  for  his  horse.  He  had 
fenced  it  in,  but  the  cattle  breached  the  fence  and 

86 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

he  could  not  repair  it  perfectly  while  the  storm 
lasted. 

"  The  cattle  business  as  it  is  carried  on  in  this 
country  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  cruel  forms  of 
cruelty  to  animals,"  Clayton  declared,  as  he  came  in 
exhausted  by  one  of  these  fights  for  the  preserva 
tion  of  his  little  haystack.  "  The  cattlemen  provide 
no  feed  or  shelter ;  in  fact,  with  their  immense  herds 
that  would  be  an  impossible  thing ;  and  you  see  the 
result.  Their  method  works  well  enough  when  the 
winters  are  mild,  but  more  than  half  of  them  are 
not  mild.  Yet,"  he  continued  sarcastically,  "  the 
cattlemen  will  tell  you  that  it  pays !  If  they  do  not 
lose  over  twenty  per  cent,  in  any  one  year  the  busi 
ness  can  stand  it.  Think  of  it!  A  deliberate,  cold 
blooded  calculation  which  admits  that  twenty  out  of 
every  hundred  head  of  cattle  may  be  sacrificed  in 
this  method  of  raising  cattle  on  the  open  range! 
And  the  owners  of  the  cattle  will  stand  up  and  talk 
to  you  mildly  about  such  heartless  cruelty,  and  dare 
to  call  themselves  men !  Even  Fogg  will  do  it.  As 
for  Davison,  I  suppose  he  was  born  and  bred  to  the 
business  and  doesn't  know  any  better.  But  it's  a 
burning  shame." 

Justin  was  stirred  as  deeply.  Clayton's  view 
point  had  become  his  own.  It  lashed  his  conscience 
to  feel  that  he  was  in  some  slight  measure  responsi 
ble  for  the  condition  he  was  witnessing.  He  was 
connected  with  the  Davison  ranch,  if  only  as  an 
employe.  As  for  holding  the  cattle  behind  the 
fences  and  the  open  lines,  that  had  not  been  possible ; 
yet,  if  it  could  have  been  done,  their  condition  would 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

have  been  worse.  By  breaking  away  they  were 
given  more  land  to  roam  over,  and  that  meant  more 
milk-weed  pods  and  thistle  heads,  and  more  slopes 
where  a  bit  of  frosted  grass  was  bared  by  the  knife- 
like  winds,  to  say  nothing  of  the  stacks  of  hay  now 
and  then  encountered. 

Yes,  it  was  a  burning  shame.  Justin  felt  it ;  and 
he  grew  sick  at  heart  as  day  by  day  he  watched  that 
tragedy  of  the  unsheltered  range,  where  hundreds 
of  hapless  cattle  were  yielding  up  their  lives. 


88 


CHAPTER  XII 

WITH   SIBYL  AND  MARY 

ON  her  way  home  for  a  brief  visit  at  the  close 
of  the  summer,  which  she  had  spent  in  the 
East,  Lucy  Davison  stopped  in  Denver,  to 
visit  Mary  Jasper,  from  whom  she  had  received 
glowing  letters.  Mary  had  not  written  for  several 
weeks,  and  Lucy  was  surprised  to  find  her  ill;  an 
illness  resulting  from  the  unaccustomed  excitement 
of  the  Denver  life  she  led  under  the  guidance  of 
Sibyl  Dudley  and  the  too  sudden  transition  from 
the  quiet  of  Paradise  Valley.  She  was  not  seriously 
ill,  however,  and  looked  very  attractive,  as  she  lay 
propped  about  with  cushions  and  pillows,  her  dark 
hair  framing  her  face  and  her  dark  eyes  alight  with 
eagerness  when  Lucy  appeared.  Lucy  was  almost 
envious,  as  she  contemplated  Mary's  undeniable 
beauty. 

Sibyl  lavished  attention  and  care  on  her  charge, 
and  she  greeted  Lucy  with  every  evidence  of  delight 
and  affection. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  tired !  "  she  said.  "  Let  me 
have  some  cakes  and  tea  brought  up  for  you  at  once. 
A  little  wine,  or  some  champagne,  would  be  good 
for  you.  You  wouldn't  care  for  it?  Then  we'll 
have  the  tea  and  cakes.  And  Mary  may  sit  up  in 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

bed  a  few  minutes,  just  in  honor  of  this  visit.  It 
was  so  good  of  you  to  stop  off  in  Denver  to  see 
her." 

Sibyl  was  very  beautiful  herself,  quite  as  beauti 
ful  as  Mary,  though  very  much  older.  Lucy  thought 
she  had  not  aged  a  day  in  appearance  since  she  had 
first  met  her,  in  the  home  of  that  acquaintance  in 
the  little  town  at  the  entrance  to  Paradise  Valley. 
Sibyl  was  past-master  of  that  wonderful  preserva 
tive  art  which  defies  wrinkles  and  gray  hairs  and 
the  noiseless  flight  of  that  foe  of  all  beautiful  wom 
en,  Time.  She  defied  Time,  as  she  defied  every 
thing,  except  the  small  conventionalities  of  life,  and 
the  changing  fashions.  She  made  friends  with 
these,  and  they  served  her  well. 

While  talking  with  Lucy,  and  nibbling  at  the 
cake  or  sipping  the  tea,  she  stopped  now  and  then 
to  caress  with  coaxing  tones  her  canary,  which  she 
had  brought  into  the  room  and  hung  in  its  gilded 
cage  at  the  window  to  brighten  the  place  for  Mary. 
She  possessed  naturally,  or  had  cultivated,  that  soft, 
low  voice  which  a  Great  Poet  has  declared  to  be  an 
excellent  thing  in  a  woman,  and  she  had  assiduously 
cultivated  an  outward  appearance  of  much  kindness ; 
so  that  altogether  she  was  very  charming,  even  in 
the  eyes  of  Lucy  Davison,  and  a  most  agreeable 
hostess.  Mary  was  delighted  with  her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mary,  in  a  burst  of  confi 
dence,  which  a  favorable  opportunity  brought,  "  she 
is  so  good!  And  she  is  as  kind  to  the  poor  as  she 
can  be.  I  know  of  two  old  women,  and  one  old 
man,  whom  she  nearly  supports.  Of  course  it  isn't 

90 


With  Sibyl  and  Mary 

really  any  sacrifice  for  her  to  do  it,  for  she  is  weal 
thy.  It's  the  funniest  thing,  the  way  she  speaks 
about  it.  She  says  she  gives  things  to  poor  people 
just  because  the  giving  makes  her  feel  good.  'Give 
a  quarter  to  a  beggar,'  she  says,  '  and  you  will  feel 
warm  inside  all  day.  It  is  a  cheap  way  to  purchase 
comfort.'  " 

In  that  same  conversation  Mary  chanced  to  men 
tion  Curtis  Clayton. 

"  I  spoke  of  him  to  Mrs.  Dudley  one  day,  and  I 
asked  her  if  she  knew  him." 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  I  know  him/  she  said ;  '  he  is  a  fool, 
a  poor  fool ! ' 

"  '  He  looks  so  comical/  I  said  to  her,  '  swinging 
that  stiff  arm  P 

"  Then  she  looked  at  me — oh,  I  can't  tell  you 
how  funny  her  eyes  were  then,  just  as  if  coals  were 
shining  behind  them,  and  she  said,  awfully  quiet : 

"  '  I  happen  to  know  how  he  got  that — it  was  by 
doing  a  brave  and  unselfish  deed!  He  was  in  love 
with  a  beautiful  but  silly  girl,  whom  I  knew.' 

"  Then  she  told  me  the  story.  He  was  with  this 
girl  on  his  vacation.  He  was  in  Yale  then,  and  she 
was  the  daughter  of  a  worthless  hotel-keeper.  He 
first  met  her  at  the  hotel  while  he  was  spending  a 
summer  in  the  mountains.  She  knew  that  he  loved 
her,  and  she  was  vain  of  it,  and  she  wanted  to  make 
him  show  it.  There  was  a  flower  growing  in  a  cleft 
of  a  canon,  and  she  asked  him  to  get  it  for  her.  He 
descended.  It  was  dangerous ;  and  she,  looking  over 
and  pointing  out  the  flower,  lost  her  footing  and  fell. 
She  was  caught  by  some  bushes,  but  she  had  a  good 

91 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

fall,  and  landed  at  a  point  where  she  could  not  get 
up.  The  fright  that  he  got  by  seeing  her  fall  caused 
him  to  lose  his  footing,  and  he  slipped  and  broke 
his  left  arm.  To  get  her  up  he  had  to  reach  down 
with  one  hand  and  hold  to  an  aspen  with  the  other. 
He  could  only  hold  with  his  right  hand,  for  his  left 
arm  was  broken ;  so  he  dangled  his  broken  left  arm 
over  for  her  to  clutch ;  and  she,  frightened  and  self 
ish,  gripped  the  hand,  and  after  a  great  effort  scram 
bled  up.  He  held  on  until  she  was  safe,  and  then 
(he  had  already  turned  white  as  death)  he  fainted. 
He  revived  after  a  time,  and  they  got  out  of  there, 
forgetting  the  flower;  and  though  the  doctors  did 
what  they  could,  he  has  had  a  stiff  arm  ever  since." 

Mary  shivered  a  little,  sympathetically. 

"  I  can't  ever  think  of  Doctor  Clayton  now  with 
out  seeing  him  with  that  girl,  dragging  her  out  of 
that  place  with  his  broken  arm.  I  asked  Mrs.  Dud 
ley  if  the  girl  married  him  after  all  that;  and  she 
said  yes,  but  it  would  have  been  better  for  him  if  she 
hadn't,  if  she  had  gone  to  her  death  in  the  canon  that 
day,  for  she  wasn't  a  girl  who  could  ever  make  any 
man  happy.  And  do  you  know,  I  think  it  must 
have  been  that  girl  who  caused  him  to  live  the  life 
he  is  living!" 

A  sudden  confusion  had  attacked  Lucy  Davison, 
who  recalled  certain  conversations  with  Justin.  They 
were  in  the  nature  of  sacred  confidences,  so  could 
not  be  mentioned  even  to  Mary  Jasper;  but  she,  at 
least,  knew  that  Sibyl  was  herself  the  girl  whom 
Clayton  had  drawn  from  the  canon  with  that  dang 
ling  broken  arm,  and  whom  he  had  afterward  mar- 

92 


With  Sibyl  and  Mary 

ried.  Why  had  he  deserted  her,  or  she  him?  And 
why  were  they  now  living  apart?  Believing  that 
the  name  of  Sibyl's  husband  had  been  Dudley,  Mary 
had  failed  to  guess  the  truth. 

Mary  told  Lucy  that  it  would  not  be  surprising 
if  Mrs.  Dudley  married  again,  as  there  was  "  just 
the  dearest  man  "  who  called  on  her  with  much  fre 
quency  and  seemed  to  be  greatly  enamored  of  her. 

"  He  has  a  funny  little  bald  head,"  said  Mary, 
"  and  he  wears  glasses,  the  kind  you  pinch  on  your 
nose;  he  keeps  them  dangling  against  his  coat  by  a 
black  cord.  And  he  is  as  kind  as  kind  can  be,  and 
a  perfect  gentleman.  Mrs.  Dudley  says  he  is  very 
rich,  and  I  really  believe  she  will  marry  him  some 
time,  for  she  seems  to  like  him." 

The  name  of  this  amiable  gentleman,  Lucy 
learned,  was  Mr.  Plimpton,  and  he  was  a  Denver 
stock  broker.  Neither  Mary  nor  Lucy  dreamed  of 
the  truth  of  his  relations  with  Sibyl  Dudley. 

Having  recurred  to  people  and  affairs  in  Paradise 
Valley,  Mary  chattered  on  like  a  gay  little  blackbird, 
and  knew  she  was  very  bewitching,  bolstered  among 
the  pillows.  Her  illness  had  taken  some  of  the  color 
out  of  her  cheeks,  yet  they  still  showed  a  rosy  tint 
when  contrasted  with  the  pillows,  and  the  whiteness 
of  the  pillows  emphasized  the  color  of  her  eyes  and 
hair.  She  asked  Lucy  to  move  the  little  dresser 
farther  along  the  wall,  that  she  might  see  herself  in 
the  mirror.  She  desired  to  get  certain  stubborn 
tangles  out  of  her  hair,  she  averred;  but  she  really 
wanted  to  contemplate  her  own  loveliness. 

"  Mrs.  Dudley  puts  the  dresser  that  way  for  me 

93 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

sometimes,  even  when  I  don't  ask  her  to ;  and  often 
I  lay  for  hours,  looking  into  the  mirror,  when  she 
has  gone  out  of  the  room.  It's  like  looking  into 
the  clouds,  you  know.  You  remember  how  we  used 
to  lie  on  the  rocks  there  by  the  edge  of  the  Black 
Canon  and  look  up  at  the  clouds  ?  We  could  see  all 
kinds  of  things  in  them — men  and  horses,  and  wild 
animals,  and  just  everything.  When  I  let  myself 
dream  into  the  mirror  that  way  I  can  see  the  same 
things  there.  And  sometimes  I  try  to  picture  what 
my  future  will  be.  Once  I  thought  I  saw  a  man's 
face  looking  out  at  me,  and  it  wasn't  Ben's!  Mrs. 
Dudley  said  I  had  been  dreaming,  and  didn't  see 
anything,  but  it  seemed  real.  I  suppose  I  shall 
marry  Ben,  of  course,  just  as  you  will  marry  Jus 
tin." 

Lucy's  face  flushed. 

"  I  don't  see  why  that  should  be  a  matter  of 
course !  " 

"  So  you've  seen  some  one  in  the  East  who  is 
better  looking  ?  You  can't  fool  me !  I  know !  What's 
his  name?  " 

"  Truly  I  haven't  seen  any  one  in  the  East  who  is 
better  looking.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  anything  of 
the  kind." 

"  Then  he  is  still  the  best  looking,  is  he  ?  If  you 
still  think  so,  it's  a  sure  sign  that  you'll  marry  him. 
That's  why  I  think  I  shall  marry  Ben.  I  haven't 
seen  any  one  in  Denver  I  like  as  well  as  Ben,  or 
who  is  as  good  looking;  and  one  has  a  chance  to 
see  a  good  many  men  in  a  city  like  this." 

"  Has  Ben  been  to  call  on  you  ?  " 

94 


With  Sibyl  and  Mary 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  was  here  only  last  week.  When  I 
first  came  up  here  I  couldn't  get  him  to  call,  though 
I  was  told  I  might  invite  him.  But  when  he  got 
started  he  kept  coming  and  coming,  and  now  he 
comes  almost  too  often.  Mrs.  Dudley  has  been  very 
kind  and  good  to  him,  and  sometimes  I'm  almost 
jealous,  thinking  he  likes  her  almost  as  much  as  he 
does  me.  I  should  be  truly  jealous,  I  think,  if  I 
didn't  know  about  Mr.  Plimpton." 

She  studied  her  mirrored  reflection,  wondering 
if  it  could  be  possible  for  Ben  to  find  Mrs.  Dudley, 
who  was  so  much  older  and  had  already  been  mar 
ried,  more  charming  than  herself.  It  was  so  un 
pleasant  a  thought  that  she  frowned;  and  then,  re 
membering  that  frowns  will  spoil  even  the  smoothest 
forehead,  she  drove  the  frown  away,  and  began  to 
talk  again. 

Though  Lucy  Davison  would  not  admit  it,  she 
was  anxious  to  hasten  on  to  Paradise  Valley ;  so  she 
remained  but  a  day  with  Mary  Jasper.  Yet  in  that 
time  Sibyl  contrived  to  exhibit  to  her  the  carriage, 
the  magnificent  horses  and  the  liveried  driver,  taking 
her  as  she  did  so  on  a  long  drive  through  some  of 
the  fashionable  streets  and  avenues. 

As  the  carriage  swung  them  homeward  Sibyl 
made  a  purchase  of  fruits  and  flowers,  with  which 
she  descended  into  a  shabby  dwelling.  When  she 
came  out  she  was  followed  to  the  door  by  a  slatternly 
woman,  who  curtsied  and  thanked  her  volubly  with 
a  foreign  accent. 

"  She's  an  Italian — just  a.  dago,  as  some  people 
say — but  her  husband  has  been  sick  for  a  month  or 

95 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

more,  and  I  try  to  brighten  her  home  up  a  bit.  I 
don't  know  what  he  does  when  he's  well ;  works  for 
the  railroad,  I  believe." 

Then  the  carriage  moved  on  again,  away  from 
the  cheap  tenements,  and  into  the  wealthier  sections 
once  more,  where  Sibyl  lived. 

"You  mustn't  tell  father  that  I'm  sick,"  was 
Mary's  parting  injunction  to  Lucy.  "  If  he  knew 
he  might  want  me  to  come  home.  I  will  be  entirely 
well  by  another  week.  I  write  to  him  every  Sunday, 
just  as  if  I  was  in  the  best  of  health;  and  so  long 
as  I  don't  tell  him  he  thinks  I'm  as  well  as  ever. 
And  truly  I  am  as  well  as  ever,  or  will  be  in  a  few 
days.  If  you  tell  him  anything,  tell  him  I'll  be 
down  to  see  him  this  fall.  I  thought  I  should  go 
last  winter,  but  those  awful  storms  came  on,  and  I 
was  so  busy  besides,  that  I  just  didn't.  But  I  do 
think  of  him  often,  and  you  may  tell  him  that,  too, 
if  you  tell  him  anything." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEN   AMBITION   CAME 

LUCY  DAVISON  was  seldom  absent  from 
Justin's  mind;  and  he  was  thinking  of  her, 
as  he  drove  to  town  to  make  some  purchases 
for  Pearl,  who,  though  married,  was  still  the  house 
keeper  at  the  ranch.  The  knowledge  that  Lucy  was 
to  arrive  at  home  in  a  short  time  filled  him  with 
longing  and  delight. 

As  he  drove  along  he  could  but  note  the  appear 
ance  of  the  valley,  and  the  houses  of  the  new  settlers 
and  the  old.  Sanders  had  purchased  more  land,  and 
had  moved  his  dug-out  close  up  to  the  trail  and 
much  nearer  to  the  river.  He  had  been  indefatigable 
in  his  efforts  to  induce  settlers  to  come  into  the  val 
ley,  and  successful  to  a  degree  that  surprised  Justin 
and  the  Davisons.  Of  the  newer  arrivals  several 
were  men  of  force  and  intelligence.  They  had  given 
the  valley  their  approval,  and  had  set  to  work. 

Sanders,  it  now  appeared,  had  sold  his  land  at 
Sumner  for  a  considerable  sum  of  money.  At  Sum- 
ner  irrigation  was  being  practiced  successfully.  He 
was  firm  in  his  belief  that  Paradise  Valley  could  be 
irrigated  as  easily,  and  would  make  an  agricultural 
section  as  rich.  Therefore,  he  and  the  new  farmers, 
joined  by  certain  of  the  older  ones,  among  them 

97 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

Sloan  Jasper,  had  built  a  dam  across  the  stream 
near  Jasper's  and  turned  the  water  thus  secured 
into  some  small  canals,  from  which  laterals  con 
veyed  it  to  the  places  where  it  was  required. 

They  were  working  under  unfavorable  conditions, 
however;  their  dam  was  cheaply  and  hastily  con 
structed,  and  the  canals  and  ditches  being  new 
sucked  up  the  water  almost  as  fast  as  it  could  be 
turned  into  them. 

Naturally  Davison  and  Fogg  were  not  pleased. 
The  water  which  the  farmers  were  using  decreased 
the  supply  in  the  water-holes,  and  threatened  suffer 
ing  for  the  cattle  if  a  dry  season  came  on.  They 
did  not  accept  the  theory  promulgated  by  the  farm 
ers,  that  the  water  would  find  its  way  back  through 
the  soil  into  the  stream.  That  the  new  enterprise 
troubled  the  ranchmen  gave  secret  joy  to  William 
Sanders,  whose  bitter  and  vindictive  mind  was  filled 
with  ineradicable  hatred  of  Davison  and  all  con 
nected  with  him.  To  strike  a  blow  at  Davison 
delighted  him  immeasurably. 

Justin  had  a  dusty  drive  that  afternoon,  for  the 
land  was  dry.  For  several  days  a  strong  south 
wind  had  been  blowing,  and  the  mountain  was  drap 
ing  its  wide  shoulders  in  misty  vapor.  These  were 
good  portents  of  rain;  and  when  rain  came  at  that 
season,  after  a  period  of  drought,  it  came  usually 
in  a  heavy  storm. 

Ben  Davison  had  set  out  for  the  town  ahead  of 
Justin,  on  his  pony.  Ben  had  practically  ceased  to 
work  on  the  ranch,  except  at  intervals.  He  was 
much  in  the  company  of  Clem  Arkwright,  and  en- 


When  Ambition  Came 

joyed  certain  pleasures  of  the  town,  to  which  Ark- 
wright  had  introduced  him.  For  one  thing,  Ark- 
wright  played  a  game  of  poker  that  few  men  could 
beat.  Arkwright  was  a  small  politician,  and  by 
virtue  of  that  fact  held  the  office  of  justice-of-the- 
peace.  Arkwright  had  thrown  his  political  follow 
ing  to  Ben's  support,  in  a  recent  county  convention ; 
and  that,  with  the  influence  of  Davison  and  Fogg, 
had  given  to  Ben  Davison  the  nomination  to  the 
state  legislature. 

As  the  bronchos  climbed  to  the  summit  of  a  low 
divide,  giving  a  long  view  of  the  trail,  Justin  saw 
Ben,  far  ahead,  nearing  the  town.  It  gave  him 
thought.  Ben  was  not  only  ahead  of  him  on  the 
trail  that  day,  but  in  other  ways. 

That  summer  of  patient  toil  and  sturdy  thought 
spent  high  in  the  mountains  with  the  sheep  had 
brought  to  Justin  the  knowledge  that  he  was  now  a 
man.  As  a  man  he  was  beginning  to  feel  that  he 
must  do  something,  must  set  about  the  work  of 
making  a  place  and  a  name  for  himself  in  the  world. 
Influenced  by  the  idealist,  Clayton,  and  by  his  love 
for  Lucy,  he  had  heretofore  fed  on  love  and  dreams. 
He  still  loved,  and  he  still  dreamed,  but  he  knew 
now  that  to  these  must  be  added  action  and  accom 
plishment. 

No  one  understood  Ben  Davison's  unworthiness 
more  thoroughly  than  Justin.  Because  of  the  influ 
ence  of  his  father  and  the  support  given  to  his  can 
didacy  by  a  tricky  politician  Ben  was  apparently  on 
the  high  road  to  political  preferment  and  honors. 

99 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

His  name  was  mentioned  in  the  Denver  dailies,  and 
his  picture  was  in  the  county  paper. 

Philip  Davison  was  pleased,  probably  Lucy  was 
pleased  also,  and  Justin  felt  that  he  really  ought  to 
look  upon  the  matter  in  a  kindly  and  amiable  light. 
Yet,  even  as  he  thought  so,  he  felt  his  heart  burn 
ing. 

"  I  might  have  had  that  nomination,  if  things 
had  been  different!  " 

That  was  Justin's  thought.  He  knew  to  the  core 
of  his  being  that  in  every  way  he  was  better  quali 
fied  than  Ben  Davison  to  fill  that  important  place. 
He  had  not  only  mental  but  moral  qualities  which 
Ben  totally  lacked.  In  addition,  the  position  and 
the  honor  appealed  to  his  growing  desire  to  be 
something  and  do  something.  It  would  give  oppor 
tunity  to  talents  which  he  was  sure  he  possessed. 
Denver  represented  the  great  world  beyond,  where 
men  struggled  for  the  things  worth  while.  Ben 
Davison  would  go  to  Denver,  become  a  member  of 
the  legislature,  and  would  have  the  doors  of  possi 
bility  opened  to  him,  when  he  had  not  the  ability 
nor  the  moral  stamina  to  walk  through  them  when 
they  were  opened,  and  he — Justin — would  remain — 
a  cowboy. 

When  Justin  reached  the  town,  which  consisted 
of  a  double  row  of  frame  houses  strung  along  the 
railroad  track,  he  hitched  the  bronchos  to  the  pole 
in  front  of  one  of  the  stores  and  proceeded  to  the 
purchase  of  the  groceries  required  by  the  house 
keeper.  That  done  he  walked  to  the  postofHce  for 
the  ranch  mail.  As  he  came  out  with  it  in  his  hands 

100 


When  Ambition  Came 

and  began  to  look  over  the  county  paper,  where  he 
saw  Ben  Davison's  name  and  political  qualifications 
blazoned,  he  observed  several  men  converging  to 
ward  a  low  building.  Over  its  door  was  a  sign, 
"  Justice  of  the  Peace." 

"Arkwright's  got  a  trial  on  to-day,"  said  one  of 
the  men,  speaking  to  him.  "  You  ranchers  air  git- 
tin'  pugnacious.  Borden  has  brought  suit  against 
Sam  Turner  for  the  killin'  of  them  cattle.  I  s'pose 
you  heard  about  it?  " 

Justin's  interest  was  aroused.  He  was  acquainted 
with  both  Arkwright  and  Borden,  and  he  knew  of 
the  killing  of  the  cattle,  but  he  had  not  heard  of  the 
lawsuit.  Borden's  ranch  lay  over  beyond  the  first 
mesa,  along  Pine  Creek.  It  had  been  established 
since  the  Davison  ranch.  Not  all  the  line  between 
the  two  ranches  was  fenced,  and  the  open  line  Justin 
had  ridden  for  a  time  with  one  of  Borden's  cow 
boys. 

There  were  a  few  settlers  along  Pine  Creek,  one 
of  them  being  Sam  Turner,  a  young  farmer  from 
Illinois.  Justin  remembered  Turner  well,  and  Tur 
ner's  wife,  a  timid  little  woman  wholly  unfit  for 
the  life  she  was  compelled  to  live  in  this  new  coun 
try.  She  had  a  deathly  fear  of  Borden's  cowboys, 
a  fear  that  was  too  often  provoked  by  their  actions. 
They  were  chiefly  Mexicans  and  half-breeds,  a  wild 
lot,  much  given  to  drinking,  and  often  when  they 
came  riding  home  from  the  town  in  their  sprees 
they  came  with  their  bronchos  at  a  dead  run,  firing 
their  revolvers  and  yelling  like  Indians  as  they  swept 
by  Turner's  house.  Whenever  she  saw  them  com- 

101 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

ing  Mrs.  Turner  would  catch  up  her  little  girl  in  her 
arms,  dart  into  the  house,  lock  and  bar  the  doors, 
and  pull  down  the  blinds.  The  cowboys  observed 
this,  and  it  aroused  them  to  even  wilder  demonstra 
tions  ;  so  that  now  they  never  passed  Turner's  with 
out  a  fusillade  and  a  demoniacal  outburst  of  yells. 

The  death  of  the  cattle  had  come  about  through 
no  fault  of  Turner.  They  had  simply  broken  down 
a  fence  during  a  storm,  and  getting  into  Turner's 
sorghum  had  so  gorged  themselves  with  the  young 
plants  that  some  of  them  had  died.  It  did  not  seem 
to  matter  to  Borden  that  Turner's  sorghum  had 
been  devoured.  In  his  rage  over  his  loss  Turner  had 
threatened  violence,  and  Borden  was  answering  with 
this  suit  for  damages  for  the  loss  of  the  cattle. 

Justin  squeezed  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd  that 
already  filled  the  office.  Clem  Arkwright's  red  face 
showed  behind  his  desk,  which  was  raised  on  a  plat 
form.  Justin,  still  thinking  of  Lucy  and  Ben, 
looked  at  Arkwright  with  interest.  He  did  not  ad 
mire  Arkwright  himself,  but  Ben  Davison  thought 
highly  of  him,  and  that  was  something.  A  heap  of 
law  books  was  stacked  on  Arkwright's  desk.  A 
pair  of  pettifogging  lawyers  had  been  kicking  up  a 
legal  dust,  and  one  of  them,  Borden's  lawyer,  was 
still  at  it.  As  the  lawyer  talked,  Clem  Arkwright 
took  down  one  of  the  books  and  began  to  examine 
a  decision  to  which  his  attention  was  called. 

While  Arkwright  looked  at  the  decision,  the  law 
yer  went  right  on,  pounding  the  book  he  held  in  his 
hand  and  shaking  his  fist  now  and  then  at  the  jus 
tice  and  now  and  then  at  Sam  Turner  and  the  op- 

102 


When  Ambition  Came 

posing  lawyer.  Turner  sat  with  his  counsel,  and 
at  intervals  whispered  in  his  ear.  Justin  had  never 
attended  a  trial  and  he  found  it  interesting.  His 
sympathies  were  with  Turner. 

From  the  claims  made  by  Borden's  lawyer,  it  ap 
peared  that  Sam  Turner  was  wholly  in  the  wrong. 
He  should  have  guarded  his  crops  or  fenced  his  land. 
He  had  done  neither,  and  as  a  result  Borden's  cattle 
had  lost  their  lives  and  Borden  had  sustained  finan 
cial  loss.  Borden  was  not  required  to  maintain  a 
fence,  nor  to  employ  riders  to  hold  the  cattle  beyond 
any  certain  imaginary  line,  the  lawyer  maintained; 
but  he  had  kept  riders  so  employed,  and  had  built 
a  fence  on  a  part  of  his  range.  He  had  done  these 
things,  that  his  cattle  might  not  become  mixed  up 
with  cattle  belonging  to  other  ranches,  and  particu 
larly,  as  it  appeared,  in  pure  kindness  of  heart,  that 
they  might  not  trespass  on  the  farms  of  such  men 
as  the  defendant.  It  was  admitted  that  Turner  had 
a  perfect  right  to  live  on  and  cultivate  his  land;  it 
was  his,  to  do  with  as  he  pleased,  by  virtue  of  title 
conveyed  to  him  by  the  government  under  the  home 
stead  laws.  But  he  was  compelled,  if  he  wished  to 
prevent  trespass  of  this  kind,  to  erect  and  maintain 
a  stock-tight  fence,  or  guard  his  land  in  some  other 
substantial  way;  and  having  failed  to  do  that,  he 
should  be  mulcted  in  damages  for  the  loss  sustained 
by  the  plaintiff. 

Justin  was  listening  with  much  interest  to  the 
argument  of  Borden's  lawyer,  when  he  felt  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  Turning  about  he  beheld  William 
Sanders. 

103 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  We  want  to  see  you  outside  a  minute  er  two," 
said  Sanders. 

He  tried  to  smile  pleasantly,  but  there  was  a  queer 
gleam  in  his  little  eyes. 

"  All  right,"  said  Justin,  wondering  what  Sanders 
could  want. 

Several  farmers  and  a  few  of  the  citizens  of  the 
town  were  awaiting  him  outside,  he  discovered,  and 
had  sent  Sanders  in  to  get  him. 

"  We  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you  about  the 
election,"  said  one  of  them.  "  We'll  go  into  that 
back  room  over  there;  we've  got  the  privilege  of 
using  it  awhile  " 

Sloan  Jasper  shambled  up,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets. 

"  Howdy,  Justin !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  an  anxious 
smile.  "  I've  been  talkin'  round  a  bit  amongst  my 
friends,  and  what  I've  said  about  you  I  don't  take 
back  for  any  man." 

Somewhat  bewildered,  Justin  accompanied  these 
men  into  the  vacant  room  they  had  indicated,  back 
of  one  of  the  stores.  Here  William  Sanders  estab 
lished  himself  at  a  small  table ;  the  doors  were  closed, 
the  men  dropped  into  seats,  and  Sanders  rapped 
with  his  knuckles  for  order.  That  queer  gleam  still 
shone  in  his  little  eyes. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  rising,  "  I'm  goin'  to  ask 
Mr.  Jasper  to  set  out  the  object  of  this  meetin'. 
Me  and  him  talked  it  up  first,  I  guess ;  and  he  under 
stands  it  as  well  as  I  do,  and  maybe  can  set  it  out 
better." 

Sloan  Jasper  shambled  to  his  feet,  declaring  that 

104 


When  Ambition  Came 

he  was  no  speaker;  and  then  proceeded  to  a  heated 
denunciation  of  the  ranchmen  and  their  methods. 

"  How  many  times  have  they  tramped  me  an'  my 
farm  under  foot  as  if  we  was  muck  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  That  trial  over  there  before  that  scoundrel,  Ark- 
wright,  is  a  sample  of  it.  They've  run  the  county 
till  they  think  they  own  it.  But  they  don't  own 
me !  Justin  hyer  is  a  cowboy  and  can  draw  cowboy 
votes.  We  all  think  well  of  him,  because  we  know 
he  can  be  depended  on  to  do  the  fair  thing  by  every 
body.  That's  all  we're  askin' — the  fair  thing;  we 
don't  want  to  take  advantage  of  anybody,  er  injure 
anybody ;  but  we  do  intend  to  protect  ourselves,  and 
to  do  it  we've  got  to  stand  together,  and  stand  up 
fer  men  who  will  stand  up  fer  us.  There's  certain 
things  that  will  come  before  this  next  legislature 
in  which  we're  interested.  If  Ben  Davison  sets  in 
it  as  the  representative  frum  this  county  he'll  vote 
ag'inst  us  every  time.  Now,  there's  a  lot  o'  men  in 
this  town  who  don't  like  him,  ner  Arkwright;  and 
all  over  the  county  it's  the  same  way.  So  I  say  if 
we'll  stand  together,  us  farmers,  as  one  man,  and 
can  git  somebody  that  the  cowboys  like  to  run 
ag'inst  Ben  Davison,  we  can  beat  him  out  of  his 
boots,  fer  he  ain't  popular,  though  the  newspaper 
and  his  friends  is  tryin'  to  make  it  out  that  he  is. 
And  that's  why  we're  hyer — a  sort  of  delegation 
of  the  farmers  an'  the  people  of  the  town  who  have 
talked  the  thing  over;  an'  we're  goin'  to  ask  Justin 
Wingate  to  make  the  race  fer  us  ag'inst  Ben  Davi 
son.  If  he  does  it,  we'll  take  off  our  coats  and  work 
fer  him  until  the  sun  goes  down  on  the  day  of  elec- 

105 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

tion;  and  so  help  me  God,  I  believe  as  truly  as  I 
stand  hyer,  that  we  can  elect  him,  and  give  Ben 
Davison  the  worst  beatin'  he'll  ever  git  in  his  life." 

Sloan  Jasper  sat  down  with  flushed  face,  amid  a 
round  of  applause.  Before  Justin  could  get  upon 
his  feet,  William  Sanders  was  speaking.  He  said 
he  had  come  to  see  that  Justin  was  the  man  they 
wanted — the  man  who  could  make  the  race  and  have 
a  chance  of  winning ;  and  for  that  reason  he  favored 
him,. and  would  do  all  in  his  power  for  him,  if  he 
would  run. 

Justin  was  confused  and  gratified.  His  pulses 
leaped  at  the  bugle  call  of  a  new  ambition.  He  knew 
how  justly  unpopular  Ben  was.  It  was  possible,  it 
even  seemed  probable,  that  if  he  became  the  candidate 
of  the  men  who  would  naturally  oppose  the  ranching 
interests  he  could  defeat  Ben  Davison.  But  would 
not  such  an  attempt  be  akin  to  treachery?  He  was 
in  the  employ  of  Philip  Davison. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  consider  such  a  thing," 
he  urged,  in  some  confusion,  without  rising  to  his 
feet.  "  Mr.  Davison  has  treated  me  well.  I  want  to 
remain  on  friendly  terms  with  him  and  with  Ben. 
I  couldn't  do  that,  if  I  ran  against  Ben.  I'm  obliged 
to  you,  just  the  same,  you  know,  for  the  compliment 
and  the  honor;  but,  really,  I  don't  think  I  ought  to 
consider  it." 

He  saw  these  men  believed  that  he  and  Ben  Davi 
son  were  not  on  terms  of  good  friendship;  on  that 
they  based  their  hope  that  he  would  become  their 
candidate.  They  were  not  to  be  dissuaded  easily, 

1 06 


When  Ambition  Came 

and  they  surrounded  him,  and  plied  him  with  appeals 
and  arguments. 

"  We'll  give  you  till  Thursday  to  think  it  over," 
they  said,  still  hoping  to  win  him.  "  We're  going 
to  put  some  one  up  against  Ben,  and  you're  the  one 
we  want." 

Though  Justin  did  not  retreat  from  his  declaration 
that  it  was  a  thing  he  should  not  consider,  they  ob 
served  that  he  did  not  say  he  would  not  consider  it. 
The  stirrings  of  ambition,  the  flattery  of  their  words, 
and  the  gratifying  discovery  that  the  world  regarded 
him  now  as  a  full-grown  man,  kept  him  from  saying 
that. 

Just  beyond  the  town,  as  he  proceeded  homeward, 
he  was  overtaken  by  Ben  Davison,  who  had  ridden 
hard  after  him  on  his  pony.  Ben's  face  was  white, 
his  eyes  unnaturally  bright,  and  his  hand  shook  on 
his  bridle-rein. 

"  I've  been  hearing  that  talk  in  town,"  he  began, 
"  and  I  wan't  to  know  about  it !" 

Justin  felt  the  hot  blood  sing  in  his  ears.  With 
difficulty  he  crowded  down  the  violent  temper  that 
leaped  for  utterance. 

"  What  did  you  hear?"  he  asked. 

"  That  you  intend  to  run  against  me." 

Justin  gave  him  a  look  that  made  the  shining  eyes 
shift  and  turn  away. 

"Some  of  the  farmers,  and  others,  want  you  to 
run,"  said  Ben. 

"  Yes,  that  is  true." 

"  And  do  you  intend  to  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  said  that  I  did." 

107 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"Well,  I  wan'ttoknow!" 

"  What  if  I  decline  to  answer?" 

Ben  changed  his  tone. 

"  It  will  make  trouble  for  me,  if  you  run.  If  you 
keep  out  of  it  I've  got  the  thing  cinched — they  can't 
beat  me,  for  I  will  pull  the  cowboy  vote.  You  might 
split  that  vote.  I  don't  say  I  think  you  could  be 
elected,  for  I  don't;  but  it  would  make  me  a  lot  of 
trouble,  and  would  kick  up  bad  feeling  all  round." 

"  In  what  way  ?"  said  Justin,  speaking  coldly.  He 
was  studying  Ben  closely ;  he  had  never  seen  his  face 
so  white  nor  his  eyes  so  unnaturally  bright. 

"  Well,  with  father,  for  one  thing.  He  wouldn't 
like  it;  he  wants  me  to  be  elected,  and  has  already 
spent  a  lot  of  money." 

"  Ben,"  said  Justin,  speaking  slowly,  "  you  have 
yourself  to  blame  largely  for  this  stirring  up  of  the 
farmers.  You  have  made  them  hate  you.  They  will 
put  up  some  one  against  you,  whether  I  run  or  not." 

"They  can't  beat  me,  unless  they  run  some  fellow 
who  can  swing  the  cowboy  vote,  and  they  know  it. 
That's  why  they  came  to  you." 

"  Yes ;  they  said  it  was." 

"  You  told  them  you  wouldn't  run  ?  " 

"  I  told  them  I  ought  not  consider  it." 

"  Well,  that's  right ;  you  oughtn't." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  understand,  Ben,  that  I  have 
just  as  good  a  right  to  run  as  you  have !" 

"  I  don't  think  so ;  not  while  you're  working  for 
father,  and  when  I'm  already  in  the  race." 

Mentally,  Justin  acknowledged  that  this  was  a 
point  well  taken. 

1 08 


When  Ambition  Came 

"  You  won't  run  ?  "  said  Ben,  anxiously. 

Justin  hesitated,  shifting  uneasily  on  the  high 
spring  seat 

"  N-o,  I  hardly  think  I  ought  to." 

"  Thank  you !    I  wanted  to  make  sure." 

Ben  wheeled  his  pony,  and  galloped  back  toward 
the  town. 

"  Am  I  easy  ?"  Justin  asked  himself,  as  his  eyes 
followed  the  receding  figure.  "  But,  really,  it  does 
seem  that  I  oughtn't  to  think  of  such  a  thing,  under 
the  circumstances.  Davison  would  be  angry — and  I 
don't  suppose  Lucy  would  be  at  all  pleased." 

He  drove  on,  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind, 
recalling  with  pleasure  the  flattery  of  the  farmers, 
and  wondering  why  Ben  Davison's  face  looked  so 
unnaturally  white  and  his  eyes  so  bright.  He  knew 
that  anger  alone  was  not  the  cause. 


109 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  THE  STORM 

THE  threatened  rainstorm  broke,  bringing 
early  night,  as  Justin  reached  home.  Lemuel 
Fogg  was  at  the  ranch  house  with  Davison. 
Fogg's  shining  photograph  wagon  had  been  brought 
out  and  a  pair  of  horses  hitched  to  it. 

"  Ben  isn't  here,"  said  Davison;  "  I  suppose  he's 
in  town,  looking  after  election  matters;  so,  as  soon 
as  you  can  get  those  things  into  the  house,  I  want 
you  to  ride  along  the  line  fence  and  see  that  every 
thing  is  all  right,  for  we  don't  want  any  cattle  break 
ing  out  and  making  trouble  with  the  farmers  just 
now.  Fogg  and  I  are  going  up  the  trail  together  in 
his  wagon.  He  wants  to  get  a  photograph.  We'll 
be  near  the  dam,  or  a  short  distance  below  it,  where 
Jasper's  lateral  makes  out  into  his  fields.  I  think 
you  will  find  us  at  the  bridge  there  over  the  lateral, 
and  you  can  come  there  and  make  your  report,  when 
you've  looked  at  the  fence.  Report  promptly,  if 
there's  any  trouble." 

Fogg  came  out  of  the  house  in  oil  hat  and  slicker, 
buttoned  to  the  chin  against  the  storm.  He  resem 
bled  a  yellow,  overgrown  Santa  Claus,  minus  the 
beard. 

"  Hello,  Justin !"  he  cried,  advancing  and  extend- 
no 


In  the  Storm 

ing  his  hand,  as  Justin  swung  a  bag  of  meal  to  the 
ground.  "  We're  in  for  a  good  ground-soaker,  I 
guess.  The  lightning  is  beginning  to  play  fine.  It's 
great  over  there  on  the  mountain.  When  she  gets 
to  going  good  I'll  try  to  nail  one  of  the  flashes  down 
on  a  negative.  I've  tried  a  dozen  times  and  failed; 
now  I'm  going  to  try  again." 

Having  shaken  hands,  Fogg  ran  heavily  toward 
the  wine-covered  wagon ;  the  rain  was  beginning  to 
roar,  and  the  interior  of  the  wagon,  as  he  knew,  was 
as  tight  as  a  house.  Then  the  shining  wagon  whirled 
away,  with  the  rain  drops  glistening  on  it,  revealed 
by  the  lightning,  which  was  already  waving  fiery 
swords  in  the  sky. 

Justin  followed  on  his  cow-pony  as  quickly  as  he 
could,  garbed  like  Fogg  in  a  yellow  oil  slicker,  and 
galloped  along  the  wire  fence  that  ran  here  toward 
the  town.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  ride.  The  gusty 
rain  beat  in  his  face  and  the  wind  blew  a  tempest. 
The  lightning,  increasing  in  frequency,  showed  the 
fence  intact,  as  far  as  the  lower  end  of  the  deep 
chasm  called  the  Black  Canon,  which  cut  through 
the  mesa  above  Jasper's.  There  was  no  need  to  go 
farther  than  this,  for  he  had  inspected  that  portion 
of  the  fence  earlier  in  the  day. 

The  storm  was  in  full  swing  before  he  reached 
Jasper's  lateral.  He  followed  it  until  he  came  to  the 
tiny  bridge  that  spanned  it,  and  there  found  the 
photograph  wagon.  Sheltered  within  the  wagon, 
Fogg  had  trained  his  camera  toward  the  mountain. 
There  the  play  of  the  lightning  had  become  some 
thing  stupendous.  Davison  was  trying  to  hold  the 

ill 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

bronchos  and  keep  them  quiet  in  the  beating  rain. 

"  I've  taken  several  exposures  already,"  Fogg  an 
nounced,  when  Justin  made  his  appearance  and  his 
report.  "If  those  horses  can  be  kept  still  another 
minute  I'll  try  it  there  just  over  the  dam." 

A  blinding  flash  burned  across  the  sky.  It  was  so 
vivid  that  Justin  closed  his  eyes  against  it.  The 
burst  of  the  thunder,  like  the  explosion  of  a  cannon, 
was  thrown  back  by  the  stony  walls  of  the  mountain, 
and  rolled  away,  booming  and  bellowing  in  the 
clouds.  The  thunder  roll  was  followed  shortly  by 
a  confused  and  jarring  crash. 

"  I  got  that  flash  all  right,  I  think,"  said  Fogg, 
"  and  there  goes  the  side  of  the  mountain !" 

Landslides  occurred  occasionally  on  the  sides  of 
the  mountain,  and  Fogg  thought  this  was  one. 

"  No,"  Davison  shouted,  "  it's— the  dam !" 

Another  crash  was  heard,  accompanied  by  a  pop 
ping  of  breaking  timbers;  then,  with  a  roar  like  a 
cyclone,  the  dam  went  out,  sweeping  down  the  swoll 
en  stream  in  a  great  tangle  of  logs  and  splintered 
timbers.  Justin  galloped  toward  the  stream. 

"  Better  look  out  there,  Justin,"  Fogg  bellowed 
at  him.  "That  will  bring  the  river  out  on  the  jump, 
and  you  don't  want  to  get  caught  by  it !" 

Justin  heard  the  wagon  being  driven  away  from 
the  little  bridge.  It  was  an  exciting  minute,  yet  he 
had  time  to  think  with  regret  of  what  the  loss  of  the 
dam  would  mean  to  the  farmers.  His  reflections 
were  cut  short  by  a  scream,  followed  by  a  cry  for 
help. 

Then  in  the  lightning's  white  glare  he  saw  on  the 

112 


In  the  Storm 

ground  before  him  a  woman  clinging  to  the  pros 
trate  form  of  a  man.  Justin  galloped  wildly,  and, 
reaching  them  leaped  down.  To  his  amazement  the 
woman  was  Lucy  Davison  and  the  man  was  Ben. 
She  had  apparently  dragged  him  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  water  that  splashed  and  rolled  in  a  wild  flood 
but  a  few  yards  away. 

"  Help  me,"  she  said,  without  explanation.  "  He 
— he  is  hurt,  I  think."  , 

Justin  had  his  arms  round  Ben  instantly,  and 
began  to  lift  him.  The  rain  was  falling  in  sheets, 
and  both  Lucy  and  Ben  were  drenched.  Ben  began 
to  help  himself,  and  climbed  unsteadily  to  his  feet, 
with  Justin's  assistance.  Only  in  the  intervals  be 
tween  the  vivid  lightning  flashes  could  Justin  see 
either  Ben  or  Lucy. 

"  I'm — I'm  all  right ! "  said  Ben,  staggering 
heavily. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  was  hit  by  one  of  the  timbers  of 
the  dam,"  Lucy  declared. 

To  Justin  she  seemed  abnormally  brave.  She 
took  hold  of  Ben's  arm  and  assisted  in  supporting 
him. 

"  We  must  get  him  to  the  house — to  Jasper's," 
she  urged,  tremulously. 

:<  The  photograph  wagon  is  right  over  there," 
Justin  informed  her.  "We'll  take  him  to  that.  If 
you'll  lead  my  horse  maybe  I  can  carry  him." 

"  I  don't  need  to  be  carried,"  said  Ben,  stubbornly. 
"  I  tell  you  I'm  all  right.  I  slipped  and  fell — that's 
all.  Take  your  hands  off  of  me ;  I  can  walk." 

Lucy  clung  to  him,  and  Justin  did  not  release  his 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

hold.  He  hallooed  now  to  Davison  and  Fogg.  They 
did  not  hear  him  in  the  roar  of  the  storm,  but  by  the 
glare  of  the  lightning  they  saw  the  little  group 
swaying  near  the  margin  of  the  wild  stream  and 
drove  back  to  discover  the  meaning  of  the  strange 
sight.  They  shouted  questions  of  surprise,  as  they 
came  up.  Justin  had  not  attempted  to  voice  his  be 
wilderment. 

Lucy  became  the  spokesman  of  the  group. 

"  Uncle  Philip,  we  will  explain  later,"  she  said, 
with  emphasis.  "  The  first  thing  is  to  get  Ben 
home." 

:t  Yes,  that's  so !  "  Davison  admitted,  his  anxiety 
for  Ben  betrayed  in  his  shaking  voice. 

Ben  was  helped  into  the  photograph  wagon; 
where  he  would  not  lie  down,  but  insisted  on  sitting 
in  the  driver's  seat.  Justin  assisted  Lucy  into  the 
wagon.  It  was  a  large  wagon,  in  which  Fogg  had 
lived  and  slept  in  the  old  days  when  he  went  about 
taking  photographs  and  selling  curios.  Justin 
wished  he  might  climb  in  there  by  Lucy's  side,  and 
do  something,  or  say  something,  that  would  allay 
her  evident  distress.  Her  voice  was  unnaturally 
hard,  and  her  manner  singularly  abrupt  and  em 
phatic.  He  knew  that  she  was  suffering. 

And  he  had  not  known  she  was  in  Paradise 
Valley!  That  was  the  most  inexplicable  of  all — 
that  she  should  be  there  and  no  one  on  the  ranch 
aware  of  the  fact. 

"  She  must  have  arrived  on  the  evening  train," 
was  his  conclusion. 

However,  that  explained  little.    How  did  she  and 

114 


In  the  Storm 

Ben  chance  to  be  there  by  the  river  ?  Had  they  been 
walking  home  from  the  town  together — through  the 
storm  ?  Where  was  Ben's  pony  ?  That  might  have 
escaped  from  him,  or  he  might  have  left  it  some 
where;  but  the  other  question  was  not  to  be  an 
swered  readily.  The  whole  subject  was  so  cloaked 
in  the  mysterious  that  it  seemed  to  defy  analysis. 

The  storm  still  raged,  with  sheets  of  beating  rain, 
with  lightning  fire  and  roll  of  thunder,  as  the  wagon 
moved  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  ranch  house 
along  the  soaked  and  gullied  trail.  And  behind  it, 
galloping  on  his  cow-pony,  rode  Justin,  pondering 
the  meaning  and  the  mystery  of  the  things  he  had 
seen  and  heard. 

Yet  through  it  all  there  was  a  certain  sense  of  joy 
and  gratification.  He  had  been  able  to  serve  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  she  was  here  at  home.  The 
first  long,  long  separation  was  ended — she  was  home 
again. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  FLASH  OF  LIGHTNING 

AS  the  photograph  wagon  was  halted  at  the 
gate  which  led  to  the  ranch  house  grounds 
Lucy  Davison  spoke  to  Justin,  from  the  rear 
of  the  wagon.  Her  tones  were  solicitous,  and 
anxious : 

"  Justin,"  she  said,  "  it's  too  bad  to  have  to  ask 
you  to  do  it  in  this  storm,  but  I  wish  you  would  go 
back  to  Mr.  Jasper's  and  get  Ben's  pony,  which  he 
left  there  in  the  stable.  I  have  a  horse  there,  too, 
which  I  rode  out  from  town.  Get  both  of  them,  and 
put  them  in  the  stable  here.  You  won't  mind  the 
extra  trip?  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  you  of  it 
before." 

Justin  was  about  to  assure  her  that  he  would  go 
willingly ;  when  she  continued,  in  lower  tones : 

"  And  Justin !  Don't  say  anything  about  getting 
the  horses  from  there,  please.  I  will  tell  you  why 
later.  And  I  will  explain  everything  to  Uncle 
Philip." 

She  had  lifted  the  closed  flap  that  protected  the 
rear  end  of  the  wagon,  and  in  the  flame  of  the  light 
ning  which  still  burned  across  the  skies  he  saw  her 
pale  and  anxious  face.  She  had  always  been  beau 
tiful  in  his  eyes,  but  never  more  so  than  at  that 

116 


A  Flash  of  Lightning 

moment,  while  making  this  distressed  appeal,  even 
though  her  clothing  exuded  moisture  and  her  hair 
was  plastered  to  her  head  by  the  rain.  Her  plead 
ing  look  haunted  him  for  hours  afterward. 

"  I'll  go,"  he  said  promptly,  "and  I  will  have  the 
horses  here  in  a  little  while." 

"  Thank  you,  Justin,"  she  said,  in  a  way  she  had 
never  spoken  to  him  before.  "  And  say  nothing  to 
anybody!  I  think  you  will  not  find  Mr.  Jasper  at 
home;  but  you  know  where  the  stable  is,  and  how 
to  get  into  it." 

The  wagon  rolled  on  into  the  ranch  house 
grounds,  where  Ben  was  helped  out  and  into  the 
house;  and  Justin  galloped  back  along  the  trail  to 
Sloan  Jasper's,  having  been  given  another  surprise 
and  further  food  for  thought. 

When  he  returned  with  Ben's  pony  and  the  horse 
Lucy  had  hired  in  the  town,  and  had  put  them  in 
the  stable  with  his  own  dripping  animal,  he  entered 
the  ranch  house.  Pearl  opened  the  door  for  him; 
and  as  he  removed  his  wet  slicker  he  heard  Philip 
Davison  explaining  to  Steve  Harkness  that  the 
farmers'  dam  had  been  torn  out  by  the  storm.  Then 
Fogg  came  toward  him,  and  in  the  light  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  long  hall  he  saw  Lucy,  who  had 
changed  her  clothing  and  descended  from  her  room. 
Ben  Davison  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"  I  reckon  you're  as  wet  as  they  make  'em,"  said 
Fogg,  "  but,  just  the  same,  if  you'll  step  in  here 
we'll  see  what  I've  got  on  this  plate." 

He  was  on  his  way  to  the  dark  room  he  had  fitted 
up  in  the  house  for  his  photographic  work. 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

Lucy  came  up  to  Justin,  as  Fogg  walked  on  to 
this  room.  She  looked  him  anxiously  in  the  face. 

"  Yes,  I  brought  the  horses  ?  "  he  said,  interpret 
ing  the  look.  , 

"  And  said  nothing  to  any  one?  " 

"  I  have  spoken  to  no  one." 

She  thanked  him  with  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  just  soaked,"  she  said,  "  and  you  ought 
to  go  out  to  the  bunk  rooms  and  get  dry  clothing 
at  once.  I  don't  want  to  have  you  get  sick  because 
of  that." 

"  A  little  wetting  won't  hurt  me,  and  I'm  going  in 
here  before  I  change  my  clothes.  Fogg  wants  to 
show  me  his  picture,  if  he  got  one." 

He  followed  Fogg,  and  she  went  with  him,  with 
out  invitation. 

"  What  sort  of  picture  did  he  take  ?  I  heard  him 
saying  something  about  it." 

"  He  was  trying  to  photograph  a  flash  of  light 
ning.  I  don't  know  how  he  succeeded." 

He  stopped  at  the  doorway  and  might  have  said 
more,  if  Fogg  had  not  requested  him  to  come  on  in 
and  close  the  door. 

"  This  is  the  last  plate  I  exposed,  and  I'm  going 
to  try  it  first,"  said  Fogg,  as  he  made  his  prepara 
tions. 

Fogg  was  an  enthusiast  on  the  subject  of  photog 
raphy,  and  had  long  desired  to  catch  a  lightning 
flash  with  his  camera. 

"  If  I  haven't  got  it  now  I'll  never  have  a  better 
chance.  That  flash,  just  before  the  dam  broke — 
wasn't  it  great?  The  whole  sky  flamed  in  a  way 

118 


A  Flash  of  Lightning 

to  blind  a  fellow.  For  a  second  or  so  I  couldn't  see 
a  thing.  I  had  the  camera  focussed  and  pointed 
just  right  to  get  that  in  great  shape,  it  seems  to  me. 
Now  we'll  see  the  result." 

He  placed  the  plate  in  the  tray  and  turned  the 
developer  on  it.  Justin  and  Lucy  were  standing  to 
gether,  with  heads  almost  touching,  watching  with 
interest  to  see  the  picture  appear. 

"  I've  got  something,  anyhow,"  said  Fogg,  when 
he  saw  the  streak  which  the  lightning  had  printed 
stand  out,  as  it  were,  on  the  plate.  "  I  think  I've 
got  a  picture  of  the  dam,  too.  The  camera  was 
trained  on  the  mountain,  right  across  the  top  of  the 
dam ;  I  thought  if  I  got  the  lightning  I  might  have 
a  great  combination,  with  the  dam  and  other  things 
showing." 

"  You've  got  the  lightning  flash  all  right,"  said 
Justin,  bending  forward. 

'  Yes,  that's  coming  out  great ;  see  the  image 
develop !" 

He  stopped,  with  a  whistle  of  astonishment. 

"  Hello !  "  he  exclaimed.    "  What's  this  ?  " 

A  remarkable  picture  was  coming — had  come — 
into  view.  Fogg  stared,  with  rounded  eyes;  Lucy 
uttered  a  little  cry  of  dismay  and  fright;  Justin 
caught  his  breath  with  a  gasp  of  astonishment. 

Small  wonder.  On  the  end  of  the  dam  nearest 
the  trail  two  human  figures  were  shown — a  man 
standing  on  the  dam  with  axe  descending  and  a 
woman  rushing  toward  him  over  the  slippery  logs. 
The  figures  were  not  large,  but  they  were  portrayed 
clearly.  They  were  the  figures  of  Ben  and  Lucy 

119 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

Davison,  caught  there  by  the  camera,  in  the  mad  tur 
moil  of  the  lashing  storm. 

For  a  moment  not  a  word  was  spoken,  while  the 
figures  seemed  to  swim  more  clearly  into  view. 
Lucy  broke  the  dead  silence. 

"  May  I  see  that  plate,  Mr.  Fogg?  " 

Her  voice  was  repressed  and  hard,  as  if  she  strug 
gled  with  some  violent  emotion. 

"  I — don't — why,  yes,  of  course,  look  at  it  all  you 
want  to.  But  I  don't — " 

The  sentence  was  broken  by  a  crash  of  falling 
glass.  Lucy  had  either  dashed  the  plate  to  the 
floor,  or  had  let  it  fall  in  her  agitation. 

Justin  almost  leaped  when  he  heard  that  sound. 
Lucy  looked  at  him,  and  for  a  moment  he  thought 
she  was  going  to  cry  out.  But  again  she  spoke, 
turning  to  Fogg. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  broken!  "  she  declared,  nerv 
ously.  "  You  saw  what  you  saw,  Mr.  Fogg ;  but 
there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  remember  it.  I 
hope  you  won't.  Perhaps  one  of  the  other  plates 
will  show  a  lightning  flash.  You  couldn't  have  used 
this,  anyway." 

"  Well,  may  I  be — "  Fogg  caught  himself. 
"  Lucy,  you  broke  that  intentionally! " 

She  turned  on  him  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Fogg,  I  did.  You  saw  what  was  in  that 
picture.  You  know  what  it  told,  or  you  will  know 
when  you  think  it  over.  I  broke  it  so  that  it  could 
never  be  used  or  seen  by  anybody.  I'm  glad  I  saw 
it  just  when  I  did.  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  had  to 
do  it." 

120 


A  Flash  of  Lightning 

Was  this  the  Lucy  Justin  fancied  he  knew  so 
well?  He  was  astonished  beyond  measure. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  you're  right,"  Fogg  admitted,  as 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  say  anything.  ;<  That  dam 
went  out,  and — yes,  I  guess  you're  right!  It 
wouldn't  do  for  that  picture  to  be  seen.  I've  been 
wondering  how  you  happened  to  be  where  we  found 
you,  and  what  you  and  Ben  were  doing  there." 

"  Mr.  Fogg,"  her  tones  were  sharp,  "don't  accuse 
me  even  in  your  mind ;  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it, 
but  tried  to  stop  it."  She  hesitated.  "  And — what 
ever  you  think,  please  don't  say  anything  to  Uncle 
Philip;  not  now,  at  any  rate;  and  don't  tell  him 
about  the  picture." 

She  turned  to  the  door. 

"  Justin,"  she  said,  and  her  tones  altered,  "  I'll 
see  you  to-morrow;  or  this  evening,  if  you  like/1 

"  This  evening,"  he  begged ;  and  following  her 
from  the  room,  he  hurried  out  to  the  bunk  house  to 
shift  into  dry  clothing.  , 

When  he  saw  her  again,  in  the  little  parlor,  she 
was  pale,  and  he  thought  she  had  been  crying,  but 
her  agitation  and  her  strange  manner  were  both 
gone.  He  came  to  the  window  where  she  stood,  and 
with  her  looked  out  into  the  stormy  night.  The 
white  glare  of  the  lightning  illuminated  the  whole 
valley  at  times.  About  the  top  of  the  mountain  it 
burned  continually.  The  cottonwoods  and  willows 
were  writhing  by  the  stream.  On  the  roof  and  the 
sides  of  the  house  the  dashing  rain  pounded  furi 
ously. 

"  Justin,"  she  said,  as  he  stood  beside  her,  "  I 

121 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

must  explain  that  to  you.  You  know  what  that  pic 
ture  meant  ?  " 

He  wanted  to  fold  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort 
her,  when  he  heard  her  voice  break,  but  he  checked 
the  desire. 

"  I  could  guess,"  he  said. 

"  I  came  down  from  Denver  on  the  late  train, 
having  missed  the  earlier  one." 

"  I  was  in  town  when  the  earlier  one  came  in,"  he 
informed  her,  regretting  for  the  moment  that  his 
too  speedy  return  had  kept  him  from  meeting  her 
there.  "  If  I  had  known  you  were  coming !  " 

She  looked  at  him  fondly,  as  in  the  old  days.  How 
beautiful  she  was,  though  now  very  pale!  He  felt 
that  he  had  not  been  mistaken  in  thinking  her  the 
most  beautiul  girl  in  the  world.  The  East  had 
certainly  been  kind  to  her. 

"  It  was  to  be  a  surprise  for  you — you  great  boy, 
and  for  Uncle  Philip.  I  had  no  idea  how  it  would 
turn  out.  In  the  town  I  got  a  horse.  The  storm 
was  threatening,  but  I  thought  I  could  get  home. 
Just  before  I  reached  Jasper's  I  overtook  Ben  on  his 
pony.  I'm  telling  you  this,  Justin,  because  I  know 
you  will  never  mention  it !  " 

"  I  will  never  speak  of  it,"  he  promised. 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't.  Now,  you  must  never 
mention  this,  either — but  Ben  had  been  drinking." 

Justin  understood  now  the  meaning  of  Ben's 
white  face  and  glittering  eyes. 

"  I  never  knew  him  to  drink  before,"  she  went  on, 
"  and  I  shouldn't  have  known  it  this  evening  but 
for  the  way  he  talked.  Politics,  and  that  man  Ark- 

122 


A  Flash  of  Lightning 

wright,  caused  it,  I'm  sure.  He  was  raging,  Justin 
— that  is  the  word,  raging — against  you  and  the 
farmers,  and  particularly  against  Mr.  Jasper  and 
Mr.  Sanders.  He  claimed  they  had  tried  to  get  you 
to  run  against  him  for  the  legislature.  He  talked 
like  a  crazy  man,  and  made  such  wild  threats  that 
he  frightened  me." 

Justin  wanted  to  express  his  mind  somewhat  em 
phatically.  It  seemed  best  to  say  nothing;  yet  that 
picture  of  Ben  Davison  raging  against  him  and 
frightening  Lucy  gave  him  a  suffocating  sense  of 
wrath. 

"  The  storm  struck  us  just  before  we  reached  Mr. 
Jasper's  house,  and  we  turned  in  there  for  shelter. 
Jasper  wasn't  at  home,  but  the  door  wasn't  locked 
and  we  went  in." 

"  Jasper  was  in  town,"  said  Justin. 

"  Ben  put  the  horses  in  the  stable,"  she  went  on, 
without  noticing  the  interruption.  "  When  he  had 
done  that,  and  had  come  into  the  house  out  of  the 
rain,  he  began  to  rave  again.  After  awhile  he  said 
he  would  go  out  and  see  how  tne  horses  were  doing 
and  give  them  some  hay;  but  I  saw  him  pick  up  an 
axe  in  the  yard  and  start  toward  the  dam.  Though 
the  storm  was  so  bad,  I  followed  him,  for  he  had 
been  swearing  vengeance  against  the  farmers,  and 
from  some  things  he  had  said  I  guessed  what  he 
meant  to  do.  When  I  reached  him  he  was  on  the 
dam,  chopping  at  one  of  the  key  logs,  and  had  cut 
it  almost  in  two." 

She  trembled,  as  that  memory  swept  over  her. 

"  I  rushed  out  upon  the  dam,  when  I  saw  what 

123 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

he  was  doing,  and  begged  him  to  stop.  He  tried  to 
push  me  away,  and  I  came  near  falling  into  the 
water ;  but  I  clung  to  him,  and  then  the  axe  slipped 
out  of  his  hands  and  fell  into  the  stream.  The  logs 
began  to  crack;  and  that,  with  the  loss  of  the  axe, 
made  him  willing  to  go  back  with  me.  We  ran,  and 
had  just  reached  the  shore  when  the  dam  gave  way. 
The  ground  was  slippery,  and  he  fell  as  we  ran 
toward  the  house  through  the  storm;  and  when  he 
lay  there  like  a  log,  and  I  couldn't  get  him  up,  my 
nerves  gave  way,  and  I  screamed.  Then  you  heard 
me.  That  is  all ;  except  the  photograph." 

The  calm  she  had  maintained  with  difficulty  for 
sook  her  as  she  finished,  her  voice  broke,  and  her 
tears  fell  like  rain. 

Justin  slipped  his  arm  about  her. 

"  You  were  brave,  Lucy ! "  was  all  he  could  find 
to  say. 

He  had  never  realized  how  brave  she  could  be. 

"  And,  Justin,  nothing  must  ever  be  said  about 
it!  It  would  ruin  Ben;  it  might  even  put  him  in 
prison.  I  needn't  have  told  you;  but  I  wanted  to, 
and  I  know  you  won't  say  anything  about  it." 

Justin  did  not  stop  to  think  whether  this  were 
right  or  wrong.  He  gave  the  promise  instantly. 

They  began  to  talk  of  other  things.  She  seemed 
not  to  want  to  say  anything  more  on  the  disagreeable 
subject;  and  Justin  was  glad  to  have  her  talk  of 
herself,  of  her  school  life,  and  her  Eastern  expe 
riences.  Somehow  the  old  sense  of  intimacy  had  in 
a  measure  departed.  He  withdrew  his  hand  from 
about  her  waist,  that  was  still  slender  and  girlish. 

124 


A  Flash  of  Lightning 

She  had  been  removed  to  a  great  distance  from  him, 
it  seemed.  Yet,  outwardly,  she  had  not  changed, 
except  for  the  better.  She  was  more  womanly,  more 
gracious,  now  that  her  tears  had  been  shed  and  her 
thoughts  had  turned  into  other  channels,  even  than 
in  the  old  days.  Nevertheless,  Justin  could  not  at 
once  summon  courage  to  say  to  her  the  old  sweet 
nothings  in  which  both  had  delighted. 

"  You  are  still  my  sweetheart  ? "  he  ventured 
timidly,  by  and  by.  "  The  East  hasn't  changed  you 
any  in  that  respect,  I  hope?  " 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  her  eyes  grew 
luminous. 

"  No,  Justin,  not  in  the  least ;  but  there  is  one 
thing,  which  has  come  to  me  while  I  was  away.  We 
aren't  children  any  longer." 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  that  fact,"  he  said ;  "  I  have 
been  painfully  aware  of  it,  all  evening." 

She  knew  what  he  meant. 

''  We  aren't  children  any  longer ;  you  are  a  man 
now,  and  I  am  a  woman.  I  heard  a  sermon  the 
other  Sunday,  from  those  verses  in  which  Paul  said 
he  had  put  away  childish  things  and  no  longer  acted 
or  thought  as  a  child.  Long  ago  I  told  you  that  I 
loved  you,  and  promised  to  marry  you  some  time; 
I  haven't  forgot  that." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it !  " 

"  But  now  that  we're  no  longer  children,  I  think 
it  is  your  duty  to  speak  to  Uncle  Philip." 

The  thought  of  facing  Philip  Davison  on  such  a 
mission  flushed  Justin's  face.  Yet  he  did  not  hesi 
tate. 

125 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  I  will  do  so,"  he  promised ;  "  I  ought  to  have 
been  courageous  enough  to  do  it  long  ago,  and  with 
out  you  telling  me  to." 

Instantly  he  felt  taller,  stronger,  more  manly.  He 
knew  he  was  deliriously  happy.  To  feel  the  soft 
pressure  of  her  body  against  his,  the  electric  touch 
of  her  hand,  and  to  hear  her  say  that  she  loved  him, 
and  would  some  time  marry  him,  thrilled  him.  He 
looked  down  into  her  face,  with  the  love  light  strong 
in  his  eyes.  He  recalled  how  he  had  loved  her  dur 
ing  her  long  absence. 

"  You  didn't  see  any  one  while  you  were  gone 
that  you  thought  you  could  love  better  ?  " 

He  believed  he  knew  what  the  answer  would  be, 
but  he  awaited  it  breathlessly. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  say  so,  Justin,  until  after  you  have 
spoken  to  Uncle  Philip;  but  I  saw  no  one  I  could 
love  half  as  much  as  you — no  one." 

"  Yet  you  saw  many  men  ?  " 

She  laughed  lightly;  it  was  like  sunshine  after 
rain. 

"  Not  so  very  many  as  you  might  think.  Mrs. 
Lassell's  Finishing  School  for  Young  Ladies  is  a 
very  exclusive  and  select  place,  you  must  remember. 
She  holds  a  very  tight  rein  over  the  girls  placed  in 
her  charge." 

"  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?  It's  a  good  thing  for  me, 
I  guess,  that  she  is  so  careful ;  you  might  get  to  see 
some  one  you  could  like  better  than  me." 

She  laughed  again,  seeing  the  anxiety  he  strove 
to  cover. 

"If  you've  been  accumulating  wrinkles  and  gray 

126 


A  Flash  of  Lightning 

hairs  on  account  of  that  you've  been  very  foolish/' 

"  Your  last  letter  didn't  seem  quite  as  genial  as 
some  others !  " 

"  I  didn't  underscore  the  important  words,  or 
write  them  in  red  ink  ?  " 

She  became  suddenly  grave.  The  events  of  the 
evening  haunted  her  like  a  bad  dream. 

He  stooped  low  above  her  bended  head. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  whispered ;  "  and  I'm  going  to 
ask  you  again  if  you  love  me,  just  to  hear  you 
say  it ! " 

She  looked  up  at  him,  tremulously. 

"  Justin,  I  love  you,  and  I  love  you !  There,  don't 
ask  me  again,  until  after  you  have  spoken  to  Uncle 
Philip." 

His  blue  eyes  were  shining  into  the  depths  of  her 
brown  ones;  and  with  a  quick  motion  he  stooped 
and  kissed  her. 

"  No  one  was  looking,  and  no  one  could  see  us  in 
here,"  he  said,  as  she  gave  a  start  and  her  pale  face 
flushed  rosy  red. 

"  I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Davison  to-morrow,"  he 
promised,  as  if  to  make  amends. 


127 


CHAPTER    XVI 
BEN  DAVISON'S  TRIUMPH 

JUSTIN  made  that  call  on  Philip  Davison  in  much 
trepidation,  and  broached  the  subject  with  stam 
mering  hesitation  and  flushed  face.  Davison 
was  non-committal,  until  he  had  heard  him  through. 
Yet,  looking  earnestly  at  this  youth,  he  saw  how  pre 
possessing  Justin  was  in  appearance,  how  clear-cut, 
frank  and  intelligent  was  his  face,  with  its  expres 
sive  blue  eyes,  how  shapely  the  head  under  its  heavy, 
dark-brown  hair.  Justin's  costume  was  that  of  a 
cowboy,  but  it  became  him.  There  was  a  not  un 
kindly  light  in  Davison's  florid  face  and  he  stroked 
his  beard  thoughtfully,  as  Justin  made  his  plea.  But 
his  words  were  not  precisely  what  Justin  hoped  to 
hear. 

"  I  don't  blame  you  for  thinking  well  of  Lucy," 
he  said ;  "  she  is  a  rare  girl ;  and  the  man  who  takes 
her  for  his  wife  with  my  consent  must  show  some 
qualities  that  will  make  me  think  he  is  worthy  of 
her.  I've  thought  well  of  you,  Justin,  and  I  think 
well  of  you  now.  That  you're  a  cowboy  isn't  any 
thing  that  I  would  hold  against  you ;  a  cowboy  can 
become  a  cattle  king,  if  he's  got  the  right  kind  of 
stuff  in  him.  Everything  depends  on  that." 

"  I  intend  to  do  something,  to  become  something, 

128 


Ben  Davison's  Triumph 

make  something  of  myself,"  Justin  urged,  his  face 
very  hot  and  uncomfortable.  "  I  haven't  had  time 
to  do  much  yet,  and  my  opportunities  haven't  been 
very  good.  I've  succeeded  in  getting  a  pretty  fair 
education." 

"  But  would  you  have  done  even  that,  if  Clayton 
hadn't  driven  you  on  to  it  ?  You've  got  brains,  and 
he  coaxed  you  to  study,  and  of  course  you  learned. 
But  in  other  things  you're  not  doing  nearly  so  well 
as  Ben,  for  instance.  Ben  will  go  into  the  state 
legislature  this  fall,  and  he's  not  so  very  much  older 
than  you." 

The  flush  deepened  on  Justin's  face. 

"  I  shall  try  to  make  the  most  of  myself,"  he  de 
clared,  somewhat  stiffly.  That  reference  to  Ben  was 
not  pleasing. 

"  See  that  you  do.  Then  you  can  come  to  me 
later.  I  shall  speak  to  Lucy  about  this.  There  isn't 
any  hurry  in  the  matter,  for  she  has  two  more  years 
in  that  school." 

He  dismissed  the  matter  abruptly,  with  an  inquiry 
about  the  line  fences  and  a  mention  of  the  destroyed 
dam. 

"  I  told  those  farmers  their  dam  wouldn't  hold," 
he  declared,  with  something  akin  to  satisfaction  in 
his  tone.  "  I  knew  it  couldn't,  the  way  they  put  it 
together.  They  wouldn't  believe  me,  for  they 
thought  I  had  some  axe  to  grind  in  saying  it;  but 
now  they  see  for  themselves." 

Justin  wondered  what  Philip  Davison  would  say 
if  he  knew  the  truth.  He  did  not  even  comment  on 

129 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

Davison's  statement,  but  left  the  room  as  soon  as  he 
could  do  so  without  brusqueness. 

Sloan  Jasper,  representing  the  opposition  to  Ben 
Davison,  came  to  him  the  next  day,  which  was 
Thursday. 

"  How  about  that,  Justin?  "  he  asked,  anxious  yet 
hopeful. 

Justin  had  been  given  time  to  think,  and  his  an 
swer  was  ready. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  possible  for  me  to  run  against 
Ben — it  wouldn't  be  right." 

"  He  ain't  fit  fer  the  place,  and  you  know  it !  " 

"  I  can't  run  against  him,  Mr.  Jasper." 

Jasper  was  almost  angry. 

"  Well,  we'll  git  somebody  that  will.  You  could 
split  the  cowboy  vote." 

"  Perhaps  I  could,  but  I  can't  make  the  race." 

"  Maybe  Davison  thinks  we're  done  fer,  jist  be 
cause  that  dam  went  out ;  but  he'll  soon  know  better. 
We'll  put  in  a  new  dam,  and  we'll  have  our  rights 
hyer  in  the  valley ;  and  we're  goin'  to  beat  Ben  Davi 
son  fer  the  legislature,  if  talk  and  votes  and  hard 
work  can  do  it." 

Sloan  Jasper  and  the  farmers  were  very  much  in 
earnest.  They  found  a  man  who  was  willing  to 
stand  in  opposition  to  Ben  Davison,  and  the  cam 
paign  which  followed  was  heated  and  bitter.  With 
sealed  lips  Justin  continued  his  round  of  work  on 
the  ranch.  A  word  from  him,  from  Fogg,  or  from 
Lucy  Davison,  would  not  only  have  wrecked  Ben's 
political  prospects,  but  would  have  landed  him  in 
prison.  That  word  was  not  spoken.  The  opposi- 

130 


Ben  Davison's  Triumph 

tion  exerted  its  entire  strength,  but  Ben  Davison 
was  elected  triumphantly. 

The  day  Ben  drove  away  from  the  ranch  on  his 
way  to  Denver,  to  become  one  of  the  legislators  of 
the  state,  Philip  Davison  spoke  again  to  Justin. 

"  There  goes  Ben,  a  member  of  the  legislature ! 
He's  not  so  very  much  older  than  you,  Justin;  yet 
see  what  he  has  accomplished,  young  as  he  is." 

"  Yes,  I  see !  "  said  Justin,  quietly. 


BOOK  TWO— THE  BATTLE 

CHAPTER    I 

COWARDICE   AND   HEROISM 

THOUGH  Justin  Wingate  was  no  longer  con 
nected  with  the  Davison  ranch  he  was  not 
the  less  concerned  when  he  beheld  the  sudden 
flare  of  flame  near  the  head  of  the  canon  and  the 
cloud  of  smoke  which  now  concealed  it.  A  fire 
starting  there  in  the  tall  grass  and  sedge  might  de 
stroy  much  of  the  Davison  range,  and  would  en 
danger  the  unharvested  crops  and  the  homes  of  the 
valley  farmers.  Forest  fires  were  ravaging  the 
mountains,  and  for  days  the  air  had  been  filled 
with  a  haze  of  smoke  through  which  the  sun  shone 
like  a  ball  of  copper.  The  drought  of  late  summer 
had  made  mountain  and  mesa  a  tinder  box.  Hence 
Justin  turned  from  the  trail  and  rode  rapidly  toward 
the  fire. 

There  had  been  many  changes  in  Paradise  Valley ; 
but  except  that  it  had  grown  more  bitter  with  the 
passage  of  time,  there  had  been  none  in  the  attitude 
of  the  farmers  and  cattlemen  toward  each  other. 
William  Sanders  was  still  vindictively  hostile  to  the 
people  of  the  ranch,  and  they  disliked  him  with 
equal  intensity  of  feeling.  As  for  Justin,  he  had 

132 


Cowardice  and  Heroism 

developed  rather  than  changed.  He  was  stronger 
mentally  and  physically,  better  poised,  more  self- 
reliant  and  resourceful.  He  had  come  to  maturity. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  Borden's  ranch,  with  some 
medicines  for  one  of  Clayton's  patients  there.  The 
distance  was  long,  and  he  had  a  pair  of  blankets  and 
a  slicker  tied  together  in  a  roll  behind  his  saddle. 
Lucy  Davison  was  in  the  town,  making  a  call  on  an 
acquaintance,  and  he  was  journeying  by  the  valley 
trail,  hoping  to  meet  her,  or  see  her,  as  he  passed 
that  way.  But  thoughts  of  Lucy  fled  when  he  saw 
that  fire.  As  he  rode  toward  it  and  passed  through 
the  strong  gate  into  the  fenced  land,  he  wondered 
uneasily  if  any  plum  gatherers  were  in  the  sand- 
plum  thickets  by  the  canon. 

Justin  had  not  proceeded  far  when  he  heard  a 
pounding  of  hoofs,  and  looking  back  he  beheld 
Steve  Harkness  riding  toward  him  at  top  speed.  He 
drew  rein  to  let  Harkness  approach. 

"  Seen  Pearl  and  Helen  anywhere  ?  "  Harkness 
bellowed  at  him. 

Helen  was  the  child  of  Steve  and  Pearl  Harkness, 
and  was  now  nearly  two  years  old. 

"  No,"  said  Justin,  thinking  of  the  plum  bushes. 
"  Are  they  out  this  way?  " 

"  I  dunno  where  they  air ;  but  they  said  at  the 
house  Pearl  come  this  way  with  Helen.  That  was 
more'n  an  hour  ago.  They  was  on  horseback,  she 
carryin'  Helen  in  front  of  her;  and  she  had  a  tin 
bucket.  So  she  must  have  been  goin'  after  plums. 
That  fire  made  me  worried  about  'em." 

He  rode  on  toward  the  plum  bushes,  and  Justin 

133 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

followed  him,  through  the  smoke  that  now  filled  the 
air  and  obscured  the  sun.  Harkness's  horse  was  the 
speedier,  and  he  disappeared  quickly.  As  he  van 
ished,  Ben  Davison  dashed  out  of  the  smoke  and 
rode  across  the  mesa.  In  the  roar  and  crackle  of 
the  fire  Justin  heard  Harkness  shout  at  Ben,  but  he 
could  not  distinguish  the  words.  Justin  called  to 
Ben,  repeating  what  he  believed  had  been  Harkness's 
question,  asking  if  he  had  seen  Pearl  and  Helen ;  but 
Ben  did  not  hear  him,  or  did  not  wish  to  answer.  He 
rode  right  on,  as  if  frightened.  And  indeed  that 
fire,  which  pursued  him  even  as  he  fled,  was  not  a 
thing  to  be  regarded  lightly.  Yet  Justin  wondered 
at  Ben's  action,  his  wonder  changing  to  bewilder 
ment  when  he  saw  that  a  woman's  saddle  was  on 
the  horse  Ben  rode. 

A  horrible  suspicion  was  forced  upon  him.  He 
knew  that  Ben  had  deteriorated;  had  become  little 
better  than  a  loafer  about  the  stores  of  the  little 
town,  consorting  with  Clem  Arkwright  and  kindred 
spirits.  Arkwright  had  also  changed  for  the  worse. 
He  had  lost  his  position  as  justice-of-the-peace,  and 
was  now  often  seedy  and  much  given  to  drinking. 
He  was  said  to  be  an  inveterate  gambler,  gaining  an 
uncertain  livelihood  by  the  gambler's  arts.  Ben 
Davison  was  never  seedy.  Whether  he  obtained  his 
money  from  Davison  or  secured  it  in  other  ways 
Justin  did  not  know,  but  Ben  was  always  well 
dressed  and  had  an  air  of  prosperity. 

Ben  was  again  the  candidate  of  the  ranch  interests 
for  the  legislature.  Lemuel  Fogg,  also  representing 
the  ranch  interests,  had  secured  for  himself  a  nomi- 


Cowardice  and  Heroism 

nation  to  the  state  senate;  for  which  purpose  he 
had  become  temporarily  a  resident  of  the  town  of 
Cliveden,  some  miles  away,  where  he  had  estab 
lished  a  branch  of  his  Denver  store. 

Justin's  desire  for  justice  made  him  put  aside  the 
conclusion  almost  inevitably  forced  upon  Him  by  that 
sight  of  Ben  Davison  riding  wildly  away  from  the 
fire  in  a  woman's  saddle. 

Following  Harkness  toward  the  plum  thickets, 
where  the  roar  of  the  fire  was  loudest,  he  heard  a 
woman's  scream.  It  was  off  at  one  side,  away  from 
the  fire.  Justin  pulled  his  horse  about  and  galloped 
toward  the  fire  through  the  pall  of  smoke.  In  a  few 
moments  he  beheld  the  plump  form  of  Pearl  Hark 
ness.  Helen  was  not  with  her.  Seeing  Justin,  she 
ran  toward  him,  screaming  frantically. 

"Helen!    Helen!" 

Justin  stopped  his  horse. 

"What  is  it?    Where  is  she?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know !  I've  lost  her ! 
She  was  right  here  a  while  ago.  The  fire  started, 
and  I  left  her  to  get  the  horse;  but  the  horse  was 
gone,  and  when  I  tried  to  find  her  I  couldn't,  the 
smoke  was  so  thick.  I  must  have  got  turned  round." 
She  started  on  again,  wildly.  "  Helen !  Helen !  " 

"  Can  you  stay  here  just  a  minute  ?  I'll  find  her, 
and  I'll  bring  her  to  you.  Stay  right  here.  The  fire 
can't  get  here  for  at  least  ten  minutes.  Stay  right 
here." 

He  feared  to  leave  her,  yet  felt  that  he  must  if  he 
hoped  to  save  the  child.  Pearl  Harkness  seemed 
not  to  hear  him.  Calling  the  name  of  her  child  she 

135 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

ran  oil,  in  an  agony  of  apprehension,  choking  and 
gasping.  Lifted  high  above  her  by  his  horse,  Justin 
found  breathing  difficult.  His  mind  was  in  a  puz 
zled  whirl,  when  he  heard  the  fog-horn  bellow  of 
Harkness's  heavy  voice.  Pearl  heard  it  also,  and 
ran  toward  Harkness  with  hysterical  cries.  Justin 
rode  after  her.  Harkness  appeared  out  of  the  smoke 
like  a  spectre,  his  horse  at  a  dead  run.  When  he 
saw  Pearl  he  drew  rein  and  jumped  to  the  ground. 

"  Helen !  Helen !  "  she  screamed  at  him,  stretch 
ing  out  her  hands. 

Then,  before  either  Harkness  or  Justin  could 
reach  her,  she  pitched  forward,  overcome  by  excite 
ment  and  the  thick  smoke.  Harkness  lifted  her  in 
his  strong  arms,  clinging  to  his  bridle  rein  as  he  did 
so.  The  bronchos  were  snorting  and  uneasy. 

"  I've  got  to  git  her  out  of  here,"  said  Harkness, 
with  tender  solicitude.  "  Where's  Helen  ?  " 

"  She  must  be  right  here  somewhere ;  over  that 
way,  your  wife  said.  I'll  find  her." 

Harkness  glared  at  the  smoke. 

"  Yes,  find  her,  and  find  her  quick !  That  fire  will 
be  right  on  top  of  this  place  in  another  minute." 

He  swung  Pearl  toward  the  saddle.  Justin  as 
sisted  him  to  hoist  the  heavy  woman  to  the  back  of 
the  horse,  and  held  her  there  while  he  mounted. 
Harkness  took  the  limp  form  in  his  arms. 

"  We  ain't  got  any  time  to  lose !  "  he  gasped. 
"  Find  Helen !  For  God's  sake,  save  Helen !  It 
will  kill  Pearl,  and  me  too,  if  you  don't.  The  fire  is 
right  here.  For  God's  sake,  save  her ;  I  know  you'll 
do  it  if  anybody  can." 

136 


Cowardice  and  Heroism 

Justin  was  in  the  saddle. 

"  Save  your  wife!  "  he  cried.  "  Save  your  wife! 
I'll  find  Helen!  Til  find  her!" 

"  You've  got  to  find  her !  Don't  stop  till  you  find 
her !  I  reckon  I'd  better  help  you  look  for  her." 

He  could  not  abandon  Helen;  and  holding  his 
wife  in  his  arms  he  rode  toward  the  fire. 

"  Save  your  wife ! "  Justin  shouted  to  him. 

He  was  already  moving  off,  forcing  the  broncho 
toward  the  point  where  the  smoke  lay  heaviest. 
Again  he  shouted  to  Harkness,  begging  him  to  save 
his  wife.  Then  a  moving  wall  of  smoke  swept  be 
tween  them. 

"  Helen!  Helen!  "  Justin  began  to  call,  circling 
swiftly  about  the  spot  where  Pearl  Harkness  be 
lieved  she  had  left  her  child. 

The  heat  and  smoke  were  becoming  unbearable. 

"  I  must  find  her !  "  was  his  thought,  as  he  re 
called  Pearl's  hysterical  screams  and  the  anguished 
face  of  Steve  Harkness. 

Then,  as  if  in  a  fire-framed  picture,  he  saw  her, 
well  up  toward  the  head  of  the  caiion,  whither  she 
had  fled  in  a  panic  of  fright.  The  strong  upward 
pull  of  the  heated  air,  lifting  the  smoke  for  an  in 
stant,  revealed  her,  dad  in  her  short  dress  of  striped 
calico,  her  yellow  head  bare. 

As  the  flames  flared  thus  on  high,  their  angry  red 
blending  and  tangling  with  the  thick  black  smoke 
on  the  rim  of  the  canon,  Justin's  broncho  became 
almost  unmanageable.  He  struck  it  now,  pounding 
his  fist  against  its  body,  kicking  it  mercilessly,  and 
jerking  like  a  madman  at  the  sharp  bit.  Fighting 

137 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

with  the  scared  broncho,  he  drove  it  toward  the 
child. 

She  heard  him  call  to  her;  and  seeing  him,  she 
began  to  run  toward  him.  She  stumbled  and  fell, 
and  rose  crying.  Her  small  face  was  smeared  with 
soot  and  tears,  with  charred  plum  leaves  and  with 
sand.  All  about  her,  as  the  flames  and  the  smoke 
lifted  and  fell  under  the  force  of  the  wind,  flakes 
of  soot,  plum  leaves,  and  burning  grass,  floated  and 
flew.  It  was  a  wonder  to  Justin  that  her  striped 
dress  was  not  already  ablaze.  In  a  few  moments  he 
was  at  her  side. 

"  I  want  my  mamma ! "  she  wailed,  as  he  leaped 
down  by  her.  "  Where  is  my  mamma  ?  " 

She  pushed  back  the  tangle  of  yellow  hair  that 
the  wind  tumbled  into  her  face,  and  coughed  vio 
lently.  Her  chubby  hands  were  stained  with  tears 
and  soot.  She  doubled  one  of  them  and  gouged  it 
into  her  eyes. 

"  I  want  my  mamma ! " 

"  I  will  take  you  to  her,"  Justin  promised,  as  he 
tore  the  blankets  and  slicker  from  behind  the  saddle. 

One  of  the  blankets  he  wrapped  about  her;  the 
other  he  threw  over  his  shoulders  and  secured  in 
place  with  a  pin.  The  slicker  he  cast  away,  fearing 
its  coating  of  oil  would  make  it  inflammable.  Hav 
ing  done  this,  he  clambered  into  the  saddle,  with 
the  child  in  his  arms. 

But  the  fire  had  been  as  busy.  A  long  red  prong 
thrown  in  the  direction  of  the  ranch  buildings  had 
widened  and  was  drawing  back  toward  the  canon. 
It  lapped  across  the  open  grassy  space  toward  which 

138 


Cowardice  and  Heroism 

he  rode  before  he  could  gallop  a  dozen  rods,  thus 
hemming  them  in. 

As  Justin  dashed  furiously  at  this  wall  of  flame, 
he  drew  the  hood  of  the  blanket  well  over  his  head ; 
and  while  still  holding  the  child  closely  wrapped, 
and  clinging  to  the  rein,  he  sought  protection  for  his 
hands  in  the  folds  of  the  blanket.  There  was  no 
protection  for  the  horse.  Yet  he  drove  it  to  the 
plunge,  which  it  took  with  blind  and  maddened 
energy. 

The  fire  flashed  about  him  and  roared  like  a  fur 
nace.  The  flesh  of  his  hands  and  face  cried  out  in 
pain  and  seemed  to  crisp  under  the  lash  of  that  whip 
of  flame.  Giddy  and  reeling,  he  set  his  teeth  hard 
and  gouged  his  booted  heels  furiously  into  the 
broncho's  flanks.  The  blanket  seemed  to  be  burning 
about  his  head. 

For  a  few  brief  moments  after  that  he  was  but 
half  conscious;  then  he  felt  the  broncho  fall  under 
him,  and  was  pitched  from  the  saddle.  He  staggered 
to  his  feet,  still  holding  the  child.  His  blanket  had 
been  torn  aside  by  the  fall ;  and  he  saw  that  he  had 
broken  through  the  cordon  of  flame,  and  that  the 
fire  was  behind  him.  The  broncho  lay  quivering 
where  it  had  dropped,  having  run  to  the  last  gasp. 
He  could  not  have  recognized  it.  Its  hair  was  burnt 
off,  and  blood  gushed  from  its  nostrils. 

Helen  seemed  to  be  uninjured,  though  she  cried 
lustily.  Still  resolved  to  save  her  from  the  fire,  Jus 
tin  began  to  stagger  with  her  across  the  unburned 
grass.  As  he  did  so  he  heard  a  shout,  followed  by 
galloping  hoofs.  He  saw  the  horsemen  dimly  as 

139 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

they  rode  toward  him,  and  he  ran  in  their  direction. 
As  he  thus  ran  on  he  fell. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  on  a  horse  in 
front  of  some  one  who  clasped  him  firmly  about  the 
body.  Horses'  feet  were  rustling  noisily  over  the 
grass.  The  sky  was  black  with  smoke ;  its  taste  was 
in  his  mouth,  it  cut  his  lungs  and  pinched  his  quiver 
ing  nostrils.  His  face  and  eyes,  his  hands,  his  whole 
body,  throbbed  with  the  smarting  pain  of  fire. 

"  You're  still  all  right,  air  ye?  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  Dicky  Carroll,  one  of  the  cow 
boys. 

It  was  Dicky's  arms  that  held  him,  and  he  was  on 
Dicky's  horse.  He  drew  himself  up,  looked  about, 
and  saw  Steve  Harkness  galloping  at  Dicky's  side 
with  Helen  in  his  arms. 

"  He's  got  to  be  made  all  right  if  he  ain't,"  he 
heard  Harkness  shout.  "  He's  too  gamy  to  be  let 
die!" 


140 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  HARVEST  OF  THE  FIRE 

THE  fire  ravaged  a  large  part  of  the  mesa 
range.  In  the  valley  it  did  small  damage, 
for  the  farmers  checked  it  there  by  flooding 
the  canals  and  laterals  with  the  water  they  had 
stored  for  the  fall  irrigation.  Some  of  their  hay 
land  was  swept  over,  and  a  few  stacks  of  alfalfa 
were  destroyed,  but  no  house  was  burned.  One  of 
the  destroyed  stacks  belonged  to  William  Sanders. 
And  it  did  not  mitigate  his  hostility  to  the  people  of 
the  Davison  ranch  to  know  that  the  fire  had  been 
started  by  Ben  Davison. 

Ben  was  voluble  with  excuses  and  explanations. 
He  stated  that  he  had  gone  to  the  plum  bushes  by 
the  rim  of  the  canon.  There,  tossing  away  a  smoked- 
out  cigarette,  it  had  fallen  into  some  dry  grass, 
which  at  once  leaped  into  flame.  He  had  tried  to 
stamp  out  the  fire,  and  failed.  Startled  by  the  rapid 
ity  with  which  it  spread,  and  by  the  increasing  heat 
and  smoke,  he  had  fled.  As  he  did  so  he  came  on  a 
loose  horse,  bearing  a  woman's  saddle.  No  one  was 
near  it.  or  to  be  seen,  and  he  supposed  very  natur 
ally  that  the  rider  had  let  the  horse  get  away.  At 
any  rate,  it  offered  him  a  chance  to  escape  from  the 
fire,  which  he  believed  to  be  ringing  him  in,  and  he 

141 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

accepted  it.  He  did  not  hear  Harkness  shout  at  him, 
he  said,  nor  Justin.  Riding  toward  the  ranch  house, 
he  had  encountered  the  cowboys  who  were  hasten 
ing  to  the  fire,  and  had  turned  back  with  them,  thus 
meeting  Steve  Harkness,  who  was  holding  his  wife 
in  front  of  him  and  had  ridden  out  of  the  smoke. 
And  he  had  continued  with  the  cowboys,  and  was 
with  them  when  Justin  appeared  with  Helen. 

Dicky  Carroll's  version,  poured  into  the  ears  of 
Justin  Wingate  as  he  lay  convalescing  from  the 
effects  of  his  burns,  held  some  peppery  additions : 

"  Gee !  wasn't  Harkness  wild ;  wasn't  he  hot  ? 
He  was  hotter  than  the  fire  he  had  run  from.  He 
was  simply  crazy.  He  didn't  say  anything  to  Ben 
when  we  first  met  him,  fer  there  wasn't  time  right 
at  that  minute.  But  he  come  on  him  at  the  ranch 
house.  That  was  after  you  was  carried  in,  and 
while  Doc  Clayton  was  fingerin'  you  over  to  see  if 
you  was  all  there.  Ben  was  standin'  by  the  door; 
and  Harkness  stepped  up  to  him,  his  face  as  white  as 
a  sheet,  where  it  wasn't  all  smoked  up ;  and  he  says 
to  him,  jest  like  this : 

"  'Damn  you  fer  a  sneakin'  coward !  You  took 
my  wife's  horse,  and  left  her  and  Helen  in  that  hell 
of  fire  to  be  roasted  to  death ! '  And  then  he  hit 
him  square  on  the  mouth  and  knocked  him  up  ag'inst 
the  side  of  the  house. 

"  After  that  he  never  said  a  word  to  Ben,  but  as 
soon  as  the  Old  Man  come  he  told  him  what  he'd 
done,  and  handed  in  his  resignation  as  ranch  fore 
man.  The  Old  Man  was  as  hot  as  Harkness,  the 
fellers  say  that  saw  it;  fer  a  minute  he  looked  as 

142 


The  Harvest  of  the  Fire 

swelled  up  and  porkupiny  as  a  horned  toad.  Then 
he  ca'med  down.  '  I'll  see  Ben/  he  says,  jest  like 
that.  And  he  did  see  Ben ;  and  of  all  the  roastin's, 
that  feller  got  it;  things  couldn't  have  been  much 
warmer  fer  him  if  he'd  let  the  horse  go  and  stayed 
in  the  fire.  And  Harkness  is  still  foreman.  He's 
too  good  a  man,  you  see,  fer  Davison  to  lose.  But 
there's  one  thing  to  be  said  fer  Ben,  which  I  reckon 
he  don't  want  to  say  fer  hisself.  He  was  drinkin' 
that  day,  up  by  the  canon.  Nobody  but  a  drunk 
man  or  a  fool  would  have  throwed  that  burnin' 
cigarette  butt  into  grass  as  dry  as  that.  Ben  was  too 
drunk  to  realize  the  danger,  and  I  reckon  he  was 
too  drunk  to  know  or  care  whose  horse  he  took.  But 
he  was  middlin'  sober,  I  tell  you,  when  we  met  him. 
The  scare  did  that.  He  was  scared  good.  And  I 
will  say  fer  him  that  he  turned  right  round,  though 
he'd  been  ridin'  like  the  devil  was  after  him,  and 
went  back  with  us,  and  afterward  he  done  his  part 
in  puttin'  out  the  fire." 

Lucy  Davison  must  have  heard  this  story  from 
Pearl  Harkness ;  and  it  was  possible,  as  Justin  knew, 
that  she  had  seen  Harkness  strike  Ben.  Yet  she 
said  nothing  to  Justin  on  the  subject,  but  left  him  to 
his  own  conclusions. 

In  one  way,  the  aftermath  of  that  unpleasant  ex 
perience  was  not  unpleasant  to  Justin.  Much  of  the 
time  he  had  for  a  nurse  no  less  a  person  than  Lucy 
Davison  herself.  Whether  engaged  in  the  actual 
work  of  nursing  him  or  otherwise,  she  made  con 
stant  and  solicitous  inquiries  which  strengthened 
and  soothed  him  more  than  anything  within  the 

H3 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

range  of  Clayton's  skill.  Her  presence  would  have 
more  than  counter-balanced  the  suffering  but  for 
one  thing.  He  knew  that  his  appearance  was  worse 
than  grotesque.  Even  a  comely  youth  loses  all 
comeliness,  with  his  eyelashes  and  eyebrows  gone, 
and  his  face  disfigured  by  burns  and  bandages. 

Somewhat  reluctantly  Justin  was  at  length  obliged 
to  confess  himself  so  nearly  well  that  he  could  go 
home  with  Clayton.  Thanks  to  the  latter's  skill  he 
had  escaped  permanent  disfigurement.  Neverthe 
less,  his  injuries  confined  him  for  some  time  to  the 
house,  and  to  short  walks  and  rides  near  it. 

Lucy  made  him  many  visits,  and  brought  him  the 
news  and  gossip  of  the  valley.  She  had  "  finished  " 
at  Mrs.  Lassell's  school,  so  was  not  to  go  East  again, 
and  that  was  a  pleasant  thought  to  both.  Philip 
Davison  was  deep  in  his  plans  for  Ben's  advance 
ment,  and  Fogg  was  working  earnestly  to  secure 
his  own  election.  The  thing  that  sorely  troubled 
both  Davison  and  Fogg  now,  as  it  also  troubled 
Ben,  was  the  story  which  was  spreading,  that  Ben 
had  cut  the  dam  the  night  of  the  storm. 

"  I  hope  no  one  will  think  I  told  that !  "  thought 
Justin. 

Yet  the  repositories  of  that  secret,  he  was  sure, 
were  Lucy,  Fogg  and  himself. 

Justin  inquired  concerning  the  political  action  of 
the  farmers.  Apparently,  they  had  not  desired  to 
turn  to  him  again ;  they  had  chosen  a  candidate,  and 
were  working  for  Ben's  defeat. 

When  Fogg  called  at  Clayton's,  Justin,  in  a  pri 
vate  conversation  with  him,  declared  with  heat  that 

144 


The  Harvest  of  the  Fire 

he  had  remained  silent  about  the  dam,  even  though 
that  silence  had  distressed  his  conscience.  Fogg, 
tricky  himself,  hence  ready  to  impute  trickery  to 
others,  might  not  have  believed  Justin,  if  it  had  not 
come  out  soon  that  Ben  had  given  the  story  wings 
himself,  as  he  boasted  one  night,  while  he  sat  gam 
bling  and  drinking  with  Clem  Arkwright  and  some 
cronies  in  the  town.  Ben  denied  this  strenu 
ously  to  his  father.  But  after  that,  the  suspicions 
of  Lemuel  Fogg  against  Justin  were  blown  to  the 
wind. 

There  was  some  wild  talk  among  the  farmers  of 
prosecuting  Ben,  which  ended  in  talk,  for  there  was 
a  lack  of  first-hand  proof.  But  to  the  work  of  de 
feating  him  at  the  polls  they  had  set  themselves  with 
might  and  main. 

Then,  as  suddenly  as  the  fire  itself,  a  surprising 
change  came  in  the  political  situation.  From  the 
first,  as  now  appeared,  the  campaign  against  Ben 
had  been  engineered  craftily  by  crafty  men.  At  the 
last  moment,  the  name  of  the  opposition  candidate 
was  taken  down,  and  another  name  hoisted  in  its 
stead — the  name  of  Justin  Wingate,  used  without 
his  knowledge.  Cowboys  made  hurried  night  rides, 
moving  with  secrecy.  Ben's  conduct  at  the  time 
of  the  fire  had  laid  up  for  him  in  their  hearts  a  store 
of  smothered  rage  and  contempt,  which  now  found 
expression.  Everywhere  the  cowboys  rallied  to  the 
support  of  Justin  Wingate — and  he  was  elected. 

Because  he  was  confined  so  closely  to  the  house 
and  its  vicinity,  but  more  because  the  sudden  move 
ment  to  elect  him  was  sedulously  concealed  both 

145 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

from  him  and  from  Clayton,  Justin's  election  came 
to  him  as  a  stunning  surprise.  His  astonishment 
was  mingled  with  pain  and  anxiety.  The  hopes  of 
the  Davisons  were  in  the  dust.  He  knew  that  Ben 
must  be  humiliated  beyond  measure,  and  he  feared 
that  Davison  would  resent  it  as  a  personal  insult  to 
his  son  and  an  act  of  treachery.  And  what  would 
Lucy  think?  That  was,  to  Justin,  the  most  import 
ant  of  all. 

Clayton  brought  him  the  news  early  on  the  morn 
ing  after  the  election.  Justin,  who  had  been  walk 
ing  about  in  the  yard  enjoying  the  bright  autumn 
sunshine,  dropped  to  a  seat  on  the  doorsteps,  startled, 
weak  and  unnerved.  Clayton  began  to  make  the 
thing  clear  to  him. 

"  After  that  affair,  the  cowboys  couldn't  stand 
Ben  Davison,  and  the  story  that  he  cut  the  dam 
killed  him  with  a  good  many  of  the  town  people, 
as  well  as  the  farmers.  When  your  name  was  men 
tioned,  the  suggestion  caught  as  quickly  as  that  fire 
Ben  started.  At  Borden's  ranch,  at  Wilson's,  at 
Lindborg's,  and  all  over  the  county,  where  the  story 
of  the  fire  had  gone,  the  thing  was  taken  up  by  the 
cowboys ;  and  it  was  all  done  so  quickly  and  quietly 
that  neither  Davison  nor  Ben,  nor  even  Fogg,  knew 
a  thing  of  it,  until  it  was  too  late.  I'm  as  surprised 
as  you  are;  I  knew  of  the  talk  against  Ben,  but  I 
didn't  dream  of  this." 

Lemuel  Fogg,  shrewd  and  astute,  hurried  to  Davi- 
son's,  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  astounding  news. 
Davison  was  in  a  white  rage.  But  for  Fogg's  timely 
intervention  he  would  have  discharged  all  of  his 

146 


The  Harvest  of  the  Fire 

cowboys  at  once,  together  with  Steve  Harkness. 
They  were  angry,  and  they  stood  ready  to  go. 

"  Don't  do  it!  "  Fogg  begged.  "  We  can't  fight 
all  of  the  cowboys  of  the  county,  and  they  all  went 
against  Ben.  The  thing  to  do  is  to  make  Justin  see 
that  the  cowboys — and  in  that  sense  the  ranch  in 
terests — elected  him.  Though  the  cowboys  united 
with  the  farmers  this  time,  they  are  not  naturally 
with  them ;  Justin  knows  that.  We  mustn't  let  him 
go  to  Denver  feeling  that  he  owes  his  election  to  the 
farmers.  He  is  a  cowboy,  and  if  we  work  him 
right  we  can  hold  him  to  our  side." 

"  I  can't  believe  yet  but  that  Justin  knew  all 
about  it,"  said  Davison,  angrily. 

"  I  don't  think  he  did ;  but  whether  he  did  or 
didn't,  he's  elected." 

"  He  may  not  accept  the  place ;  he  might  give  way, 
if  pressure  is  brought  to  bear  on  him  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  for  even  a  minute,"  said 
Fogg.  "  I  know  Justin.  He's  not  a  fool,  and  he'd 
be  a  fool  if  he  did  that.  He  will  go  to  Denver  and 
sit  in  that  legislature,  and  we  want  him  to  go  as  our 
friend,  not  our  enemy.  Don't  stir  up  the  cowboys, 
don't  make  trouble  with  them;  just  give  me  a  free 
hand — I  think  I  can  work  this  thing." 

Lemuel  Fogg  set  about  the  work  at  once.  He 
suggested  to  certain  men  that  it  would  be  a  good 
idea  for  the  friends  of  the  ranch  interests  to  meet 
publicly  at  Clayton's  that  evening  and  show  Justin 
that  they  regarded  him  as  their  friend,  and  not  their 
enemy;  and,  having  done  that,  he  walked  over  to 
Clayton's  to  see  Justin  himself,  and  congratulate 

147 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

him.  Some  of  the  farmers,  he  learned,  had  already 
visited  Clayton's  for  that  purpose;  and  he  felt  that 
for  the  ranchmen  to  permit  the  "  farming  jays  "  to 
get  ahead  of  them  in  that  way  was  a  tactical  mis 
take. 

So  Fogg  came  into  Clayton's  little  study,  where 
he  had  been  so  many  times,  and  sat  in  the  big  chair 
which  had  so  often  nursed  his  rotund  body.  His 
round  freckled  face  oozed  amiability,  and  his  big 
laugh  was  cheery  and  infectious,  as  he  congratulated 
Justin. 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  nominated  regularly  in 
the  first  place,  instead  of  Ben,"  he  asserted.  "  It 
was  a  mistake  to  put  Ben  up,  after  that  trouble 
about  the  fire.  The  cowboys  wouldn't  have  him. 
They've  elected  you,  and  they're  roaring  with  joy. 
I  suppose  Ben  has  gone  into  hiding,  for  I  haven't 
seen  him  anywhere  this  morning." 

He  laughed,  as  if  this  were  a  joke. 

"  Ben's  defeat  and  your  election  surprised  me,  of 
course,"  he  admitted,  "  but  as  soon  as  I  had  time 
to  think  it  over  I  felt  there  wasn't  anything  to  be 
sorry  about,  for  you'll  make  a  good  deal  better  rep 
resentative.  You're  better  educated  all  round  than 
Ben  is,  and  you've  got  the  confidence  of  the  people, 
which  as  this  vote  shows  he  hasn't." 

Justin  liked  Fogg,  in  spite  of  the  known  defects 
of  his  character.  He  had  believed  that  Fogg  would 
be  instantly  alienated;  yet  here  he  was,  as  friendly 
and  as  jovial  as  ever,  not  disturbed  in  the  least,  ap 
parently,  by  the  strange  turn  of  events. 

"  It's  a  thing  that  doesn't  come  every  day  to  a 

148 


The  Harvest  of  the  Fire 

young  man  that  hasn't  gone  gunning  for  it,  and  it's 
up  to  you  to  make  the  most  of  it,"  Fogg  continued. 
"  This  may  be  the  stepping-stone  that  will  lead  you 
into  the  governor's  chair  some  day.  You  can't  tell, 
you  know.  Make  as  many  friends  as  you  can,  and 
as  few  enemies  as  you  can.  Ben  made  enemies, 
without  making  friends,  and  you  see  where  he  is. 
It's  a  good  lesson  to  any  young  man.  I'm  glad  I'm 
to  be  in  the  legislature  with  you;  in  the  senate,  of 
course;  but  I'll  be  right  there,  where  I  can  see  you 
every  day ;  and  if  I  can  help  you  in  any  way,  by  ad 
vice  or  otherwise,  why,  I'm  yours  truly,  to  command 
to  the  limit." 

"  The  position  is  what  I  should  have  sought,  if  I 
could  have  had  the  choosing,"  said  Justin,  "yet  I 
feel  troubled  about  it,  coming  to  me  as  it  did." 

"  You  wouldn't  think  of  refusing  to  accept  it, 
now  that  it's  yours  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  want  to  do  that,  and  it  wouldn't 
be  right  to  the  men  who  voted  for  me." 

"  I  felt  sure  you  wouldn't,"  Fogg  admitted  sig 
nificantly,  shifting  comfortably  in  his  big  chair. 

"  I'm  too  bewildered  to  know  what  to  say,  or 
what  to  think ;  I  only  know  that  it's  a  great  surprise, 
and  that  I'm  troubled  as  to  how  it  will  be  regarded 
by  the  Davisons." 

"  Well,  of  course  you  must  expect  them  to  be  a 
little  sore  over  it,  as  it  comes  so  close  home  to  them. 
But  Davison  is  a  pretty  square  sort  of  man,  as  I've 
found,  and  he'll  look  at  it  in  the  right  light,  unless 
you  give  him  occasion  to  do  otherwise.  Ben  will 
be  bitter,  I've  no  doubt ;  but  there's  no  help  for  that, 

149 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

and  if  I  were  you  I  shouldn't  let  it  trouble  me.  He'll 
get  over  it  after  awhile.  If  his  head  is  level  he'll 
know  that  he  went  up  against  a  cyclone  for  which 
you  were  not  responsible  and  he'll  keep  still." 

Fogg's  attitude  eased  Clayton's  anxiety.  The 
turbulent  conflict  he  foresaw  seemed  about  to  be 
avoided. 

"  I've  spoken  to  some  of  my  friends,"  Fogg  went 
on,  "  and  there  will  be  a  crowd  up  here  to-night.  I 
reckon  you'd  better  rub  up  a  little  something  in  the 
way  of  a  speech,  Justin.  And  if  you  happen  to  hear 
a  brass  band  filling  the  air  with  march  music,  don't 
get  scared  and  bolt  like  a  stampeding  broncho,  for 
that  will  be  the  new  band  they've  organized  in  town 
coming  up  to  serenade  you.  You're  a  public  char 
acter  now,  and  you've  got  to  stand  such  things." 

Fogg  left  Clayton's  with  growing  confidence.  He 
believed  that  Justin  would  be  pliable,  if  properly 
manipulated. 

"  If  I  can  only  jolly  him  along  here  I  can  manage 
him  when  we  get  to  Denver,"  was  his  thought. 

Though  Justin  was  strong  enough  now  to  take 
short  rides  about  the  valley,  he  did  not  visit  the 
Davison  ranch  that  day.  Lucy  was  temporarily  ab 
sent  from  home,  he  was  glad  to  know.  So  he  shut 
himself  up  at  Clayton's  and  tried  to  take  stock  of 
the  situation.  His  thoughts  were  chaotic.  The 
thing  he  would  have  chosen  had  come  to  him,  but 
in  a  manner  so  strange  that  he  could  hardly  be  sure 
it  was  desirable.  As  he  did  not  know  what  he  ought 
to  say  to  the  people  who  would  gather  there  that 
evening,  he  did  not  try  to  put  together  the  few 

150 


The  Harvest  of  the  Fire 

thoughts  in  the  way  of  a  speech  which  Fogg  had 
suggested. 

For  Paradise  Valley  that  was  a  great  gathering. 
At  nightfall  the  new  band  came  down  from  the 
town,  braying  its  loudest.  Horsemen,  and  men  on 
foot  and  in  carriages,  seemed  to  spring  out  of  the 
ground.  They  overflowed  the  little  house,  for  Clay 
ton's  hospitality  urged  them  to  make  themselves  at 
home  anywhere,  and  they  rilled  the  yard,  yelling 
lustily.  Fogg  set  up  some  gasolene  torches,  and 
came  out  of  the  house,  accompanying  Justin. 

The  noise,  the  cries  for  him  to  appear,  the  music 
of  the  band,  the  leaping  call  of  aroused  ambition, 
tingled  Justin's  blood.  He  felt  his  soul  swell,  when 
he  heard  that  roar.  It  was  a  feeling  wholly  new 
and  he  could  not  define  it,  but  it  caused  him  to  lift 
his  head  and  step  with  sure  precision  as  he  passed 
through  the  doorway  with  Fogg  to  the  little  piazza, 
in  front  of  the  house. 

Before  him  some  farmers,  in  whose  midst  he  saw 
Sloan  Jasper,  were  bellowing  their  delight.  Farther 
out  he  saw  Steve  Harkness,  by  the  light  of  the  torch 
which  flared  red  in  his  face.  At  Harkness's  side  was 
Dicky  Carroll;  and  both  were  yelling  with  wide- 
open  mouths,  and  swinging  their  big  hats,  as  they 
sat  on  their  horses.  Justin  knew  that  he  trembled, 
but  it  was  not  because  he  distrusted  himself,  or 
feared  to  face  these  people. 

As  he  came  out  upon  the  piazza,  Fogg,  the  diplo 
mat,  took  him  affectionately  by  both  hands,  his  fat 
face  beaming  with  simulated  joy,  as  he  introduced 
to  these  people  the  newly-elected-  their  newly- 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

elected — representative.  Fogg's  remarks  took  the 
form  of  a  wordy  panegyric,  whose  chief  note  was 
that,  as  Justin  had  been  elected  by  what  seemed  to  be 
a  spontaneous  uprising  of  the  whole  people,  he 
would  go  to  Denver  as  the  representative  of  the 
whole  people,  and  not  of  any  party  or  faction. 

Called  on  for  a  speech,  Justin  spoke  but  a  few 
words.  He  was  sensible,  he  said,  that  a  very  high 
honor  had  been  conferred  on  him,  and  conferred 
most  unexpectedly.  For  it  he  thanked  his  friends 
and  all  who  voted  for  him.  He  had  not  sought  the 
place,  and  in  the  manner  in  which  it  had  come  to 
him  there  were  some  painful  things,  on  which  it  was 
not  necessary  for  him  to  dwell ;  but  now  that  he  was 
elected,  he  would  try  to  serve  his  constituency  to  the 
best  of  his  ability  and  do  what  was  right.  The  posi 
tion  having  come  to  him  wholly  unsought,  he  felt 
that  he  stood  pledged  to  nothing  except  honesty  and 
the  good  of  the  state  and  the  county. 

Dicky  Carroll's  small  clean-shaven  face  and  beady 
eyes  shone  with  supreme  satisfaction.  Dicky  was  a 
firm  admirer  of  Justin,  and  he  was  delighted  to  be 
able  to  swing  his  hat  and  yell  for  a  cowboy,  one  of 
his  own  kind  as  he  thought,  who  had  been  elected 
to  the  legislature  largely  by  cowboy  votes.  He  was 
swinging  his  hat  and  yelling  even  before  Justin  con 
cluded;  and  the  speech,  brief  as  it  was,  had  been 
punctuated  with  cheers. 

Fogg  thanked  the  people  for  their  kindness,  and 
with  fat  freckled  hand  patted  Justin  on  the  shoulder 
much  as  he  would  have  patted  a  fine  young  horse 
he  was  grooming  for  the  races.  Clayton  looked  on 


The  Harvest  of  the  Fire 

with  his  quiet  smile,  pleased  to  have  Justin  so  praised 
and  cheered,  yet  anxious. 

Then  the  people  and  the  brass  band  went  away. 
Only  Harkness  and  Dicky  Carroll  stayed,  for  a  few 
words  with  the  "  cowboy  "  whom  they  had  helped 
to  elect.  They  did  not  intend  that  Fogg  should  have 
Justin  all  to  himself. 


153 


CHAPTER  III 

LEES  OF  THE  WINE 

THE  next  morning  Justin  rode  over  to  the 
ranch  house  to  see  Lucy.  He  desired  to 
know  how  she  felt  about  his  sudden  eleva 
tion,  by  which  Ben  had  been  thrust  down.  Near 
the  crossing,  where  the  bare  boughs  of  the  cotton- 
woods  were  tossing  in  the  autumn  wind,  he  encoun 
tered  Philip  Davison.  The  ranchman  drew  rein. 
Justin  had  a  sense  of  uneasiness,  as  he  lifted  his  hat 
respectfully  to  his  former  employer. 

"  Justin,"  Davison  spoke  sharply,  "  we  want  to 
know  how  you  stand.  I  heard  from  that  meeting 
last  night,  and  from  what  you  said  there  nobody  can 
tell.  Fogg  says  you're  all  right,  but  I'd  like  to  hear 
you  say  so." 

Davison  disliked  circumlocution,  being  as  direct 
in  his  methods  as  Justin  himself.  He  had  yielded 
reluctantly  to  the  restraining  hand  of  Fogg.  Now, 
meeting  Justin  thus,  he  formulated  his  doubt  and 
his  question.  His  florid  face  had  taken  on  added 
color  and  his  blue  eyes  began  to  flash.  Except  for 
that  sudden  fire  he  looked  tired,  and  older  than  Jus 
tin  had  ever  seen  him. 

"  Speak  up,  speak  up ! "  he  commanded  testily,  as 
Justin  hesitated,  "  For  myself  I  want  to  know  just 

154 


Lees  of  the  Wine 

what  to  expect.  Are  you  with  us,  or  against  us? 
You  can't  be  both/' 

Justin  did  not  want  to  speak  up,  for  he  did  not 
want  to  break  with  Philip  Davison.  He  still  held 
for  him  much  of  the  strong  admiration  he  had  cher 
ished  in  his  youth. 

"  Having  been  elected  without  my  knowledge  or 
wish,  I  shall  go  to  Denver  untrammeled/'  he  said, 
still  hesitating.  "  How  I  shall  vote  will  depend 
upon  the  questions  that  come  up  for  settlement." 

"  That's  a  fool's  answer,"  Davison  declared. 
"  Are  you  against  the  range,  or  are  you  for  it  ?  Will 
you  support  the  interests  of  the  cattlemen,  or  the  in 
terests  of  the  farmers  ?  " 

His  words  flushed  his  face  still  more  and  made 
his  eyes  very  bright.  There  were  fleshy  pads  under 
those  blue  eyes,  and  the  cheeks  below  the  pads  looked 
flabby.  Justin  thought  of  Ben.  In  some  respects 
the  father  and  the  son  were  alike.  Yet  Ben  was 
smaller,  had  a  weak  face,  and  little  of  the  towering 
bulk  of  his  father,  who  was  as  tall  as  Justin  himself. 
And  thoughts  of  Ben,  humiliated  by  defeat,  of 
Lucy,  together  with  the  old  regard,  made  him  ob 
livious  to  the  harsh  words  and  harsher  tones.  Yet 
evasion  was  not  possible. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  be  called  on  to  declare 
myself  before  I  know  just  what  the  issues  are  and 
in  what  shape  they  will  be  presented,"  he  urged. 
"  But  you  know  my  sentiments,  Mr.  Davison.  You 
know  I  quit  the  ranch  not  because  I  did  not  wish  to 
work  for  you,  but  simply  because  I " 

"  Because  you  were  a  fool ;  because  the  work  of 

155 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

branding  a  bawling  calf  made  you  sick  at  the 
stomach ;  because  you  couldn't  stand  it  to  see  a  starv 
ing  cow  wandering  about  in  a  blizzard  with  nothing 
to  eat !  You  think " 

"  Mr.  Davison—— " 

"  You  think  the  cattle  business  is  cruel  and  brutal, 
and " 

"  I  think  cattle  raising  as  it  is  conducted  on  the 
open  range  is  cruel.  I  can't  help  that." 

"  And  you  think  the  farmers  are  the  only  people ! 
You  think  the  cattlemen  are " 

"  I  sympathize  with  the  farmers.  Perhaps  that 
is  because  they  are  poor  men  and  need  sympathy." 

"  You  will  vote  with  them !  "  Davison  lifted  his 
voice  and  shook  his  finger  in  Justin's  face,  leaning 
forward  in  the  saddle.  "  After  all  I've  done  for  you, 
Justin!  There  is  a  contemptible  conspiracy  on  foot 
in  this  state  to  ruin  the  cattle  business,  and  it  has 
your  sympathy.  I  have  always  been  your  friend, 
and  Fogg  is  your  friend ;  yet  you'd  vote  us  into  pov 
erty  to-morrow,  just  on  account  of  Clayton's  idiotic 
notions.  I'm  done  with  you.  You  needn't  ride  on 
over  to  the  house,  for  I  don't  want  you  there.  There 
is  no  one  there  who  does  want  you.  I  hope  you  un 
derstand  that.  A  man  who  is  a  man  doesn't  go 
where  he  isn't  wanted.  I  wash  my  hands  of  you !  " 

Having  lost  his  temper,  Philip  Davison  began  to 
rave. 

"  Yet  you  owe  your  election  to  ranch  influences," 
he  shouted.  "  You  gained  your  place  through  the 
defection  of  the  cowboys  from  Ben.  They  persisted 
in  misunderstanding  what  he  did  at  the  time  of  the 

156 


Lees  of  the  Wine 

fire,  and  they  played  the  sneak,  riding  over  the 
country  by  night  and  banding  themselves  together 
to  put  him  down.  If  you  lent  yourself  to  that, 
it-—" 

"  I  did  not  lend  myself  to  it,  Mr.  Davison,"  Jus 
tin  protested,  earnestly.  "  I  did  not  know  anything 
about  it." 

"  Yet  you  profit  by  it,  you  profit  by  it ;  and  the 
receiver  of  stolen  goods  is  as  bad  as  the  thief." 

Fogg  had  beheld  this  collocution  from  the  ranch 
house,  and  now  he  galloped  up,  his  fat  body  swaying 
heavily  in  his  creaking  saddle.  Though  perturbed, 
his  round  fat  face  beamed  like  a  kindly  sunset. 

"  How  are  you,  Justin;  how  are  you?  "  he  cried. 
"  Hope  that  racket  at  Clayton's  didn't  rob  you  of 
your  sleep  last  night.  It  was  a  successful  meeting, 
and  I'm  glad  that  it  was,  having  had  something  to 
do  with  getting  it  up."  He  mopped  his  hot  forehead 
with  his  handkerchief.  "  Davison,  a  word  with  you ! 
The  Deep  River  Company  write  that  they  want  to 
buy  some  of  our  cattle." 

Fogg's  hand  was  again  on  the  wheel.  Justin  was 
glad  to  ride  on,  for  Davison's  savage  assault  had  left 
him  breathless.  He  was  hurt,  but  tried  hard  not  to 
be  angry.  He  was  still  determined  to  see  Lucy,  even 
though  Davison's  words  practically  forbade  him  the 
house.  Ben  was  absent  so  much  from  the  ranch  now 
that  Justin  hardly  expected  to  meet  him ;  yet  he  did 
meet  him,  in  front  of  the  ranch  house  door.  Ben 
had  long  since  discarded  cowboy  clothing,  and  he 
had  lost  much  of  the  cowboy  tan,  his  face  being  now 
white  and  unhealthy-looking,  as  if  bleached  by  late 

157 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

hours  and  artificial  lights.  It  took  on  a  surly  look, 
when  he  saw  Justin. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  care  to  come  over  here 
now,"  he  said,  curtly.  "If  it's  pleasant  for  you,  it 
isn't  pleasant  for  me." 

"  I  hope  we  can  be  friends,"  Justin  urged.  "  I'm 
sure  I  want  to  be  yours." 

He  had  not  recovered  his  equanimity,  and  his  face 
was  flushed. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  yours !  You  may  deny 
it  if  you  want  to,  but  you  played  me  a  mean,  dirty 
trick.  You  probably  had  it  in  mind,  when  you  put 
up  that  melodramatic  exhibition  at  the  fire." 

Justin  found  great  difficulty  in  keeping  his  temper. 
Hot  words  burned  on  his  trembling  lips. 

"  I  won't  talk  with  you,  Ben,"  he  declared, 
hoarsely.  "  Is  Lucy  in?  I  should  like  to  see  her." 

"  Find  out  if  she's  in,"  Ben  snapped,  and  turned 
toward  the  corrals. 

Lucy  met  Justin  at  the  door.  Though  she  smiled 
in  welcome,  he  could  see  that  she  was  troubled. 

"  Don't  mind  what  Ben  says,"  she  urged,  as  she 
took  Justin's  hat  and  then  led  the  way  to  the  sitting 
room. 

"  He  was  crusty,"  said  Justin,  "  but  I  can't  blame 
him." 

Having  gained  the  sitting  room  she  turned  to 
Justin,  admiration  in  her  troubled  eyes. 

"  Justin,  I  ought  to  be  proud  of  you,  and  I  am — 
I  can't  help  being — but  this  is,  in  a  way,  very  un 
fortunate  and  distressing.  Ben  wasn't  worthy  of 
that  place,  as  I  know  only  too  well,  and  as  you 

158 


Lees  of  the  Wine 

know;  but  he  is  so  very  bitter  over  his  defeat,  and 
Uncle  Philip  is  the  same.  Ben  has  been  in  a  stub 
born  rage  ever  since  the  election,  and  has  said  some 
sharp  things  to  me  about  it — as  if  I  could  help  it,  or 
had  anything  to  do  with  it !  " 

"  I'm  sorry."  He  took  a  chair.  "  I  suppose  I've 
lost  Mr.  Davison's  good-will  entirely.  When  I  met 
him  a  few  minutes  ago  he  forbade  me  the  house. 
But  I  wanted  to  see  you,  and  came  on." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  accept  the  position  ?  " 

"Can  I  do  otherwise?" 

"  I  shouldn't  want  you  to  refuse  it.  The  people 
chose  you,  over  Ben,  and  even  though  it  was  unex 
pected,  I  suppose  you  ought  to  serve.  Ben  is  alone 
responsible  for  his  defeat.  Uncle  Philip  will  not 
believe  the  things  which  we  know  to  be  true,  and  he 
thinks  Ben  ought  to  have  been  elected.  Yet  I  do 
hope,"  she  looked  at  Justin  earnestly,  "  that  you  will 
not  feel  that  you  must  vote  against  the  cattlemen  in 
everything,  in  the  legislature  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  " 

"  Uncle  Philip  declares  that  you  mean  to." 

"  It  will  depend,  I  fancy,  upon  the  general  action 
of  the  legislature — upon  the  measures  and  bills  that 
may  be  introduced,  and  the  candidates  who  are  pre 
sented  for  senator.  I  don't  expect  to  take  any  active 
part  against  the  ranchmen." 

"  The  farmers  expect  you  to." 

"  I'm  opposed  to  the  ranchmen  on  some  points. 
You  know  how  I  feel ;  and  of  course  I  shall  have  to 
be  guided  by  what  I  think  is  right.  I  don't  see  how 
I  can  do  anything  else." 

159 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  Uncle  Philip  says  certain  bills  will  come  up, 
aimed  at  the  free  range;  and  he  declares  that  if  the 
free  range  is  taken  away  or  curtailed  he  will  have 
to  go  out  of  business.  He  can't  fence  against  every 
body." 

"  On  the  other  hand,  what  about  the  farmers  ?  " 

"  There  aren't  so  very  many  of  them,  and 
their  holdings  are  small.  They  might  fence  their 
land.  The  ranchmen  were  here  first.  You'll  re 
member  that  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  likely  to  forget  it."  He  settled  back 
easily  in  his  chair.  "  That's  been  dinned  in  my  ears 
a  good  deal,  already." 

"  It's  a  serious  matter,"  she  urged.  "  My  sym 
pathies  are  with  the  ranchmen ;  because  I'm  a  ranch 
girl,  I  suppose,  and  have  always  lived  on  a  ranch." 

"  And  it's  because  I've  seen  so  much  of  ranching 
that  my  sympathies  are  not  with  the  ranchmen, 
aside  from  Mr.  Davison  himself.  I  should  dislike 
to  do  anything  to  injure  him,  or  displease  him.  But 
the  ranching  business,  as  it  is  now  carried  on,  is,  I 
fancy,  the  thing  around  which  the  fight  in  Denver 
will  rage,  if  there  is  any  fight.  You  know  yourself, 
Lucy,  that  in  a  certain  sense  the  ranchmen  are  law 
breakers.  The  trouble  is,  Mr.  Davison  doesn't  stand 
alone.  It  is  not  any  one  ranchman,  but  the  system." 

"  That's  why  I'm  disturbed  by  the  situation." 

"  A  long  time  ago,"  he  said,  seeming  to  change 
the  subject,  "  you  asked  me  to  go  to  your  uncle  and 
put  to  him  a  certain  momentous  question.  His 
answer  was  virtually  a  command  that  I  should  do 
something  and  become  something.  This  opportunity 

1 60 


Lees  of  the  Wine 

has  come,  and  it  would  be  a  weakness  not  to  make 
the  most  of  it.  I  shall  trust  that  I  won't  have  to  do 
anything  to  turn  your  uncle  against  me  completely ; 
but,"  he  regarded  her  earnestly,  "  I  hope  in  any 
event  nothing  can  ever  come  between  you  and  me." 

He  arose  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  Justin/'  she  said,  looking  up  at  him,  "  that  does 
not  need  an  answer ;  but  I'm  going  to  ask  you  not  to 
be  stubborn  when  you  go  to  Denver,  that  is  all.  You 
do  get  unreasonably  angry,  sometimes,  just  like 
Uncle  Philip;  and  when  you  do,  you  become  stub 
born.  You  don't  mind  if  I  say  this  ?  If  the  struggle 
we  fear  comes,  will  you  promise  me  not  to  permit 
yourself  to  get  angry  and  stubborn  about  it?  There 
will  be  many  things  said,  I've  no  doubt,  that  will  try 
you.  But  just  think  of  me  here,  a  ranch  girl,  and 
your  best  friends  ranch  people ;  the  cowboys,  who  re 
gard  you  so  highly,  didn't  vote  for  you  because  they 
were  opposed  to  the  ranchmen,  but  simply  because 
they  didn't  like  Ben.  You'll  remember  these  things, 
won't  you  ?  " 

He  drew  her  to  him. 

"  Lucy,"  he  said,  as  he  put  his  arm  about  her  and 
kissed  her,  "  I  shall  be  thinking  of  you  all  the  time. 
I  was  almost  afraid  to  come  over  here  to-day,  but  I 
see  I  had  nothing  to  fear." 

"  And  do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  Because  you  love  me  even  as  I  love  you." 

"  Then  you  won't  forget — you  won't  forget — • 
that  I  am  a  ranch  girl,  and  that  my  interests,  and 
yours  too  if  you  but  knew  it,  are  ranch  interests !  " 

"  I  will  not  forget,"  he  promised. 

161 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  THE  WHIRLPOOL 

THE  conflicting  interests  had  so  shaped  them 
selves  before  Justin  went  to  Denver  that  he 
knew  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  vote 
on  certain  questions  with  the  representatives  of  the 
ranchmen.  He  reached  this  decision,  after  many 
long  talks  with  Doctor  Clayton,  in  the  quiet  of  the 
doctor's  study.  Yet  he  maintained  a  silence,  trying 
to  himself,  which  Clayton  deemed  discreet;  and  he 
went  to  Denver  with  many  misgivings. 

He  had  no  sooner  set  foot  in  the  hotel  when 
Fogg's  smiling  face  made  its  appearance. 

"  Good;  you're  here!  "  Fogg  cried.  "  Now  I'll 
see  that  you  have  a  first-class  room.  These  hotel 
people  will  poke  you  off  into  any  old  corner,  if  you 
don't  watch  them/' 

He  seized  Justin's  valise,  but  relinquished  it  to  the 
colored  boy  who  came  forward  to  take  it,  and  walked 
with  Justin  to  the  clerk's  desk,  where  he  made 
known  with  confidential  words  and  gestures  that  his 
friend,  Justin  Wingate,  the  representative  from 
Flatrock,  was  to  have  a  good  room,  in  a  good  loca 
tion.  And  he  went  up  with  Justin  to  the  room,  to 
make  sure  that  he  had  not  been  swindled  by  the 
wicked  hotel  men. 

162 


In  the  Whirlpool 

"  This  will  be  all  right,"  he  declared,  joyously. 
"  My  room  is  on  the  same  floor.  You  must  come 
in  and  look  at  it." 

Justin  went  in,  and  they  talked  awhile.  Fogg  did 
not  ask  him  any  questions,  but  seemed  to  assume 
that  there  could  be  no  divergence  of  opinion  between 
them  on  any  vital  point ;  they  were  old  friends,  and 
they  understood  each  other! 

On  the  mantel  was  a  copy  of  that  photograph  of 
Justin  and  Mary  Jasper,  taken  on  the  occasion  of 
Fogg's  first  visit  to  Paradise  Valley.  Fogg  had  put 
it  there,  to  be  seen,  that  it  might  further  cement  the 
ties  that  he  hoped  would  bind  Justin  to  him.  It 
would  bring  back  memories  of  pleasant  days,  he  be 
lieved.  It  brought  back,  instead,  memories  of  Peter 
Wingate  and  Curtis  Clayton.  When  that  picture 
was  taken,  the  ranchmen  had  not  invaded  Paradise 
Valley.  Sloan  Jasper  was  tilling  his  little  fields  by 
the  river  undisturbed  by  the  Davison  cattle.  And 
Jasper  had  been  one  of  Wingate' s  staunches t  friends 
and  admirers! 

"  You'll  find  things  a  bit  new  here,  of  course," 
said  Fogg,  as  he  returned  with  Justin  to  the  latter's 
room ;  "  but  I  know  Denver  like  a  book,  and  I'll  be 
glad  to  help  you  in  any  way  I  can." 

Yet  even  Lemuel  Fogg,  observing  that  Justin  did 
not  say  much,  had  an  uneasy  sense  of  insecurity. 

"  These  quiet  men  do  a  lot  of  thinking,"  was  his 
troubled  conclusion,  "  and  they're  likely  to  be  hard 
to  manage,  when  they  get  crooked  notions  in 
their  heads.  I'll  have  to  keep  my  eyes  on  him,  and 

163 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

I'll  get  some  other  fellows  to  help  me.  We've  got 
to  swing  his  vote ;  we've  simply  got  to  do  it !  " 

To  Justin's  inexperienced  eyes  Denver  was  in  a 
condition  of  political  chaos.  He  was  not  accustomed 
to  crowds,  and  at  first  they  annoyed  and  bewildered 
him.  Caucuses  were  apparently  being  held  in  every 
corner.  Ranching  interests,  mining  interests,  agri 
cultural  interests,  each  seemed  to  have  a  host  of 
champions.  But  the  thing  that  excited  every  one, 
whether  cattlemen,  farmer,  or  miner,  was  the  com 
ing  election  of  a  United  States  senator. 

Early  on  the  day  ater  his  arrival,  he  found  him 
self  drawn  into  a  caucus  held  in  the  interests  of  the 
cattlemen.  Fogg  piloted  him  into  it  adroitly,  wish 
ing  to  commit  him  irrevocably  to  that  side.  Justin 
sat  down  and  looked  about,  not  knowing  what  was 
to  be  done.  Men  came  to  him  with  friendly  words, 
and  were  introduced  by  Fogg.  A  chairman  was  ap 
pointed,  and  the  meeting  began,  with  speeches. 
Their  drift  soon  filled  Justin  with  uneasiness.  Hav 
ing  listened  awhile,  he  arose  nervously  in  his  place. 
He  did  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood,  or  put  in  a 
doubtful  position. 

As  he  stood  up,  thoughts  of  Lucy  Davison  came 
to  trouble  him;  and,  knowing  that  every  eye  was 
trained  on  him,  he  became  somewhat  disconcerted. 
Fogg,  watching  him  closely,  saw  his  face  flush  to  a 
deep  red.  Yet  even  Fogg,  consumed  by  anxious  ex 
pectancy,  did  not  fail  to  note  the  commanding  flash 
of  the  blue  eyes  and  the  stiffening  of  the  lithe,  erect 
form  of  this  young  man  from  the  remote  ranges  of 
Paradise,  as  he  began  to  speak.  There  was  nothing 

164 


In  the  Whirlpool 

rural  or  awkward  in  his  manner.  His  bare  shapely 
head  with  its  masses  of  dark  hair,  his  clear-cut 
profile,  and  his  straight  supple  form  clad  in  a  neat 
business  suit  of  dark  gray,  spoke  of  anything  but 
verdant  inexperience. 

Though  he  began  in  hesitation,  having  begun  he 
did  not  falter,  and  he  did  not  palter;  but  expressed 
himself  simply,  as  an  honest  man  expressing  honest 
opinions  without  thought  of  subterfuge.  He  did  not 
go  into  details,  and  he  did  not  explain,  further  than 
to  declare  that  he  had  not  sought  an  election;  but, 
having  been  elected  unpledged,  by  the  combined 
votes  of  farmers,  cowboys,  and  citizens  of  the  town, 
in  a  revolt  against  a  candidate  they  did  not  like,  he 
still  stood  unpledged,  and  would  vote  as  his  con 
science  dictated  in  all  things.  He  was  not  to  be  con 
sidered,  he  said,  as  belonging  to  the  party  or  inter 
ests  represented  by  this  caucus,  and  if  he  had  known 
that  those  attending  it  were  supposed  to  be  pledged 
to  do  the  will  of  the  majority  he  would  not  have 
been  there.  They  must  understand  his  position.  He 
would  not  deceive  them. 

Justin  did  not  expect  to  create  a  sensation  when 
he  delivered  that  brief  speech,  but  it  was  like  hurling 
a  bomb.  Of  all  the  men  there  Fogg  was  apparently 
the  most  surprised  and  hurt.  He  came  to  Justin  im 
mediately,  as  the  caucus  began  to  break  into  groups, 
and  while  Justin  was  trying  to  get  out  of  the  room. 
Angry  men  were  shouting  questions  at  Justin.  Fogg 
resolved  to  maintain  his  conciliatory  attitude. 

'  You're  making  a  mistake,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  hooking  a  finger  in  Justin's  buttonhole  in  a 

165 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

friendly  manner.  "  You'll  live  to  regret  it.  You're 
a  young  man  just  entering  political  life.  You're 
educated  and  you've  got  ability;  and  a  young  man 
of  education  and  ability  can  make  almost  anything 
of  himself,  in  a  country  like  this.  But  not  if  he 
starts  out  in  this  way.  You've  got  to  stand  with 
somebody.  Don't  lose  your  head  now.  We're  the 
strongest  party.  Stand  with  us.  We're  going  to 
win  this  fight,  and  you  can't  afford  to  be  on  the  los 
ing  side." 

"  Fogg,"  said  Justin,  looking  almost  angrily  at 
him,  "  I  won't  be  pulled  and  hauled  about  by  you 
nor  any  other  man.  I'm  not  trying  to  control  you, 
and  you  can't  control  me.  I  came  up  here  untram- 
meled.  When  it  comes  to  voting  in  the  house  of 
representatives  I  intend  to  listen  to  the  arguments 
for  and  against  every  measure,  and  then  I  shall  make 
up  my  mind  and  vote  for  whatever  seems  to  me  to 
be  right." 

"  You  can't  do  that,  Justin,"  Fogg  urged.  He 
was  nervously  solicitous.  "  Legislatures  are  run 
by  majorities,  by  parties.  If  every  man  stood  by 
himself  nothing  could  be  accomplished.  Sometimes 
we  must  vote  for  measures  we  don't  like  in  order  to 
help  along  measures  we  do  like.  In  a  place  like  this 
men  have  to  stand  together.  You  can't  afford  to 
herd  by  yourself,  like  an  outcast  buffalo.  You'll 
want  to  come  up  here  again,  or  you  will  want  an 
office  of  some  kind.  Now  don't  be  quick,  don't  be 
nervous  and  gunpowdery;  think  it  over,  think  it 


over." 


He  patted  Justin  on  the  shoulder.    He  was  much 
166 


In  the  Whirlpool 

shorter  than  Justin  and  had  to  reach  up,  and  it  was 
a  comical  motion. 

Justin  released  himself  from  Fogg's  grasp,  and 
though  men  were  still  shouting  at  him  and  trying 
to  reach  him,  he  moved  on  out  of  the  room  without 
speaking  to  any  one. 

To  his  surprise,  the  tenor  of  his  speech  in  the 
caucus  seemed  to  be  known  everywhere  almost  im 
mediately.  Men  came  to  him;  some  arguing  with 
him,  others  praising  him.  He  went  out  into  the 
street  to  escape  them.  Returning,  he  was  thinking 
of  retreating  to  the  privacy  of  his  room,  when  a 
newsboy  rushed  through  the  corridor  yelling,  "  Ex 
tra!  All  about  the  defection  of  the  representative 
from  Flatrock  County !  " 

Justin  Wingate's  "  defection  "  was  not  an  hour 
old,  yet  here  it  was  blazoned  in  print.  He  snatched 
one  of  the  papers  and  made  for  his  room,  where  he 
read  it  in  a  state  of  exasperated  bewilderment,  for 
he  found  himself  denounced  in  unmeasured  terms. 
This  paper  was  the  organ  of  the  cattlemen.  "  Scare 
heads  "  above  the  news  columns  of  the  first  page  in 
formed  an  astonished  world  of  cattlemen  that  a 
Judas  Iscariot  had  arisen  suddenly  in  their  midst  to 
betray  them  with  an  unholy  kiss.  In  a  brief  para 
graph  on  the  editorial  page  Justin  was  spoken  of  as 
"The  Cattlemen's  Benedict  Arnold."  Elected 
chiefly  by  cowboy  votes,  he  was,  the  paper  said,  pre 
paring  to  "  sell  them  out." 

Justin  threw  down  the  paper.  Newsboys  were 
yelling  in  the  street.  He  left  the  room,  thinking  to 
get  another  paper.  As  he  made  his  way  toward  the 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

hotel  office  a  smiling  little  man  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder.  He  saw  Fogg  advancing  with  one  of  the 
offensive  newspapers  in  his  hands,  and  scarcely  no 
ticing  the  little  man  he  turned  about,  seeking  a  way 
of  escape,  and  found  himself  in  another  room.  The 
little  man  closed  the  door  behind  Justin;  and  the 
men  before  him,  rising  from  their  chairs,  began  to 
cheer. 

This  was  a  caucus  of  the  opposition,  and  Justin 
discovered  that  he  was  being  hailed  as  an  ally,  and 
was  expected  to  say  something.  He  would  declare 
himself  to  them,  he  resolved  suddenly,  even  though 
these  men  might  not  like  what  he  said,  or  the  man 
ner  of  its  saying,  any  better  than  those  others.  He 
would  tell  them  that  he  did  not  belong  to  any  fac 
tion,  and  should  vote  only  as  his  conscience  led  him. 
Then,  if  he  must  stand  alone,  he  would  do  so. 

He  hardly  knew  what  he  said,  yet  it  was  well 
said.  Clayton's  training  had  given  him  command 
of  language,  and  his  honest  indignant  feelings  and 
ingenuous  nature  gave  him  force  and  candor.  As 
he  spoke  the  caucus  broke  into  frantic  cheering. 
Men  stood  in  their  chairs  and  yelled  like  wild  In 
dians,  or  maniacs.  Here  Justin  was  not  an  Iscariot 
or  an  Arnold,  but  a  "  patriot "  and  a  "  savior." 
This  caucus  represented  the  irrigationists,  and  Jus 
tin's  declaration  that  he  would  vote  only  as  his  con 
science  dictated  assured  them  that  he  was  not  to  be 
controlled  by  the  ranchmen,  and  that  the  reports 
they  had  received  from  Paradise  Valley  concerning 
him  were  true. 

Escaping  from  these  men  Justin  returned  to  his 

1 68 


In  the  Whirlpool 

room,  to  which  Fogg  came  soon,  though  Justin  was 
in  no  mood  to  receive  him.  Fogg  closed  the  door 
softly  and  dropped  somewhat  heavily  into  a  chair. 
His  fat  face  looked  worried. 

"  You  don't  doubt  that  I'm  your  friend,  Justin?  " 
he  said,  cautiously. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I've  any  right  to  doubt  it ; 
you've  always  been  my  friend,  heretofore." 

"  And  I'm  your  friend  now — the  best  friend 
you've  got  in  this  city." 

"  The  only  one,  I  suppose,"  said  Justin,  tipping 
his  chair  against  the  wall  and  looking  at  Fogg 
keenly.  "  I'm  a  stranger  here." 

"  So  I've  come  to  talk  this  matter  over  with  you. 
I  don't  need  to  go  into  details — you  know  how  you 
were  elected,  by  a  queer  combination  of  opposing 
interests.  The  cowboys  who  voted  for  you  did  it 
because  they  like  you  and  dislike  Ben  Davison,  and 
not  because  they  want  you  to  oppose  the  ranch  in 
terests  in  the  legislature.  If  they  considered  the 
matter  at  all,  which  is  doubtful,  they  thought  they 
could  trust  you  not  to  do  anything  here  that  would 
be  to  their  injury.  Likely  you  think  you  owe  your 
election  to  the  farmers,  but  you  don't;  they  sup 
ported  you,  but  it  was  the  cowboy  vote  which  elected 
you. 

"  I  have  never  questioned  that  fact,"  said  Justin. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  you  seem  to  forget  it.  Now, 
there's  another  thing,  of  even  greater  importance,  it 
appears  to  me,  which  you  ought  to  take  into  consid 
eration.  The  cattlemen  are  a  power  in  this  state. 
At  present  they  are  allied  with  the  party  in  control 

169 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

here,  and  the  same  party  is  in  control  at  Washing 
ton.  You  know  what  that  means." 

"  I  should  be  a  fool  if  I  didn't." 

:<  Just  so ;  and  understanding  the  situation,  is  it 
the  part  of  wisdom — under  all  the  circumstances 
now,  Justin — is  it  the  part  of  wisdom  for  you  to  op 
pose  that  party  ?  The  opposition,  which  is  just  now 
making  such  a  noise,  is  a  composite  thing  bound  to 
gether  with  a  rope  of  sand.  A  half-dozen  factions 
have  thrown  their  influence  to  the  minority  party  and 
are  making  a  desperate  effort  to  get  control  of  the 
legislature.  Suppose  they  succeed  this  time,  where 
will  they  be  next  year,  or  two  or  four  years  from 
now?  They  are  antagonistic  on  every  question  but 
this,  and  they  will  fall  apart;  nothing  else  can  hap 
pen,  as  you  must  see  yourself.  Don't  you  see  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  that  all  right." 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  to  be  gained,  in  a  personal 
way,  by  going  over  to  them?  I'm  not  going  to 
argue  the  thing  with  you,  but  just  make  these  state 
ments  to  set  you  to  thinking." 

Fogg  knew  when  he  had  said  enough,  and  he 
arose  to  go. 

"  What  did  that  paper  mean,  by  attacking  me  in 
that  way  ?  "  Justin  asked. 

Fogg  sat  down  again. 

"  Newspaper  men  are  as  likely  to  make  fools  of 
themselves  as  other  men.  They  rushed  that  edition 
onto  the  street  as  a  '  beat,'  or  '  scoop/  They're 
sorry  they  did  it  already,  if  they've  got  as  much 
brains  as  I  think  they  have." 

"  Why  should  it  be  assumed  in  the  first  place  that 

170 


In  the  Whirlpool 

I  intended  to  ally  myself  with  the  cattlemen,  and 
why  should  the  simple  statement  which  I  made  in 
that  caucus  cause  me  to  be  branded  as  a  Judas  and 
Benedict  Arnold?" 

"  It  was  simply  an  exhibition  of  what  those  fel 
lows  would  call  journalistic  enterprise,  I  suppose. 
They  wanted  to  make  a  sensation,  and  sell  papers. 
They  even  sold  a  copy  to  you."  Fogg  laughed. 
"  You  wouldn't  have  bought  that  copy,  otherwise." 

"  Well,  I  wasn't  pleased  by  it.  If  anything  would 
make  me  vote  against  the  cattlemen  when  I  thought 
I  ought  to  vote  with  them,  such  attacks  as  that 
would." 

Fogg  laughed  again,  and  ran  his  fingers  over  the 
shining  gold  chain  that  lay  across  his  rotund 
stomach. 

"  The  fellow  that  stands  in  the  limelight  has  got 
to  take  his  medicine,  and  it's  no  use  kicking.  The 
only  way  to  do  is  to  go  straight  ahead  and  take  no 
notice  of  what  the  papers  say.  That's  what  I  try  to 
do,  though  I  admit  I  get  my  mad  up  sometimes  over 
some  of  the  things  they  print  about  me.  That  paper, 
which  poured  vitriol  on  you  to-day,  will  shower  you 
with  rose  water  and  honey  to-morrow,  if  what  you 
do  pleases  it." 

"  I  shan't  try  to  please  it ! "  Justin  declared, 
angrily. 

"  No,  I  wouldn't;  I'd  try  to  please  myself,  and  I'd 
try  to  look  out  for  Number  One.  Well,  I  must  be 
going ! "  He  rose  again.  "And  just  think  over 
what  I've  said  to  you  in  friendship.  The  range  will 
be  here,  and  the  cattlemen,  when  all  these  other 

171 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

little  barking  dogs  are  dead  and  forgotten.  My 
word  for  it,  a  desire  for  loot  and  plunder  is  really  all 
that  holds  them  together  now,  though  they're  mak 
ing  such  a  howl  about  public  virtue  and  honesty. 
I've  been  in  the  political  whirl  before,  and  I  know 
those  men  right  down  to  the  ground." 

He  extended  his  hand  as  he  reached  the  door,  and 
Justin,  having  risen  also,  took  it. 

"  I'm  your  friend,"  said  Fogg,  as  a  final  word, 
"  and  what  I've  said  is  for  your  own  good." 

When  he  was  gone  Justin  sat  down  to  think  it 
over.  He  knew  there  was  much  truth  in  Fogg's 
statements.  The  conglomerate  opposition  struggling 
now  to  gain  control  of  the  legislature  would  fall 
to  pieces  inevitably  by  and  by.  If  he  voted  with  the 
ranch  interests  he  would  please  the  cowboys  who 
had  worked  for  his  election,  he  would  please  Fogg 
and  Davison,  and  he  would  not  displease  Lucy  Davi- 
son.  But  would  he  please  himself?  Would  he 
please  Curtis  Clayton?  He  could  not  hope  by  so 
doing  to  please  the  farmers. 

Justin  had  ambition,  though  he  was  not  consumed 
by  it.  He  did  not  wish  to  wreck  his  future.  Philip 
Davison,  in  that  memorable  interview,  had  told  him 
to  do  something,  be  something,  accomplish  some 
thing.  In  the  interval  between  that  time  and  now 
no  opportunity  had  come  to  him.  He  had  left  the 
ranch,  where  he  could  earn  only  cowboy's  wages, 
though  not  wholly  because  of  the  low  wages.  He 
had  for  a  time  secured  employment  in  the  town,  but 
the  position  had  been  neither  promising  nor  perma 
nent.  He  had  been  thinking  seriously  of  going  to 

172 


In  the  Whirlpool 

Denver,  to  try  his  fortunes  in  its  larger  field,  when 
the  fire  came  which  incapacitated  him,  and  after  the 
fire  this  unexpected  election. 

He  was  in  Denver  now,  and  he  was  a  member  of 
the  legislature.  Ambition  and  a  desire  to  show  to 
Philip  Davison  that  he  was  not  unworthy  of  his  re 
gard  and  friendship,  not  unworthy  even  to  become 
the  husband  of  Lucy  Davison,  urged  him  to  one 
course;  Clayton's  teachings  and  influence,  and  his 
own  inner  feeling  as  to  what  was  right  and  what  was 
not  right,  was  urging  him  to  the  opposite  course. 
Should  he  continue  to  offend  Philip  Davison  and  at 
the  same  time  wreck  his  political  prospects? 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  "  was  his  mental  cry,  as  he 
struggled  with  this  problem.  "  I  can't  vote  for 
things  which  I  know  are  not  right,  nor  for  men  I 
know  I  can't  trust." 

Early  in  the  morning  he  encountered  Fogg.  The 
encounter  was  not  by  chance,  though  Fogg  pre 
tended  that  it  was. 

"  I  hope  you  thought  over  those  things  care 
fully  ?  "  he  inquired,  unable  to  conceal  his  anxiety. 

"  I  have  thought  to  this  point,"  said  Justin ;  "  I 
will  vote  with  the  cattlemen  wherever  my  conscience 
will  let  me,  but  I  can't  vote  for  your  candidate  for 
United  States  senator." 

Fogg  stood  aghast. 

"  That  puts  you  in  the  camp  of  the  irrigationists, 
with  all  that  mongrel  crew ! " 

"  I  can't  help  it." 

Justin's  tone  was  decided.  His  face  was  feverish. 
He  had  passed  a  bad  night. 

173 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  I  can't  help  it,  if  it  does,  Fogg.  The  things 
that  man  stands  for  are  not  right,  and  I  can't  sup 
port  him." 

Fogg  detained  him,  and  threshed  the  old  argu 
ments  over;  he  even  used  the  potent  argument 
that  Justin  ought  not  to  follow  deliberately  a  course 
that  must  inevitably  injure  Philip  Davison  very 
much  in  a  financial  sense;  but,  having  with  deep 
travail  of  soul  reached  that  one  conclusion,  Justin 
Wingate  was  now  as  immovable  as  a  rock 


174 


CHAPTER  V 

HARKNESS    AND    THE    SEER 

HARKNESS  and  Clayton  had  come  to  Den 
ver;  Clayton  to  "hold  up  the  hands"  of 
Justin,  guessing  what  he  would  be  called  on 
to  encounter,  and  Harkness  to  see  the  "  sights  "  in 
this  time  of  political  turmoil.  The  cowboys  were 
virtually  in  a  state  of  revolt.  It  was  not  possible 
that  it  could  be  otherwise.  When  Harkness,  enraged 
and  resentful,  led  them  in  that  rebellion  against 
Ben  Davison,  ranch  discipline  was  destroyed  and  he 
lost  control  of  them  himself.  Not  that  he  now 
cared.  The  impulse  which  led  him  to  strike  Ben 
to  the  earth  by  the  ranch  house  door  had  guided 
him  since.  He  knew  that  the  restraining  hand  of 
Fogg,  who  had  present  interests  to  serve,  alone 
checked  the  wrath  of  Philip  Davison.  He,  and  all 
the  other  cowboys,  must  go,  as  soon  as  this  thing 
was  settled.  Nothing  else  was  possible,  when  such 
a  man  as  Philip  Davison  was  to  be  dealt  with. 

Harkness  met  Justin  on  the  street  in  front  of  the 
hotel  and  made  straight  for  him.  It  was  not  a 
bee-line,  for  Harkness  was  comfortably  intoxicated. 
He  had  the  cowboy  failing.  Though  he  never 
touched  liquor  while  on  the  ranch  and  duty  de 
manded  sobriety,  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

to  drink  with  a  friend  or  an  acquaintance  when  he 
was  in  the  city.  He  greeted  Justin  with  hilarious 
familiarity,  and  the  scent  of  the  liquor  mingling 
with  the  scent  of  cinnamon  drops  Justin  found  al 
most  overpowering. 

"  Shake !  "  he  cried,  reeling  as  he  took  Justin's 
hand.  "  Justin,  I'm  yer  friend !  Don't  you  never 
fergit  it,  I'm  yer  friend !  And  there  ain't  no  strings 
on  you!  Understand — there  ain't — no — strings — 
on — you !  We  fellers  elected  you  'cause  we  like  you, 
and  'cause  we  couldn't  vote  for  Ben  Davison.  '  To 
hell  with  Ben  Davison,'  says  I  to  the  boys, — '  to  hell 
with  him;  he  took  my  wife's  horse  and  left  her  and 
Helen  to  burn  to  death  in  that  fire!  I'll  see  him 
damned  'fore — 'fore  I'll  vote  fer  him!'  And  so  I 
would,  Justin;  an'  we — we  (hie)  voted  f'r — fer  you, 
see!  We  voted  fer  you.  Davison's  goin'  to  d's- 
charge  me  an'  I  know  it,  but  let  him.  I  don't  haf  to 
be  cowboy,  I  don't.  Let  him  d'scharge  (hie)  and 
damn  to  him!  Let  him  d'scharge.  But  you  go 
right  ahead  an'  do  as  you  want  to.  You're  honest, 
an'  you're  all  right,  an'  we're  backin'  you." 

When  Fogg  appeared — he  had  not  yet  abandoned 
hope  of  Justin — Harkness  swayed  up  to  him  pug 
naciously.  He  had  never  liked  Fogg,  and  he  liked 
him  less  now.  Fogg's  oiliness  sickened  the  cowboy 
stomach. 

"  Fogg/'  he  blustered,  "  Justin's  my  friend,  see ! 
And  there  ain't  no  strings  on  him.  He's  honest, 
an'  we're  backin'  him.  You  want  to  hear  my  senti 
ments  ?  '  To  hell  with  Ben  Davison ! '  Them's  my 
sentiments,  an'  I  ain't  'shamed  of  'em.  Davison's 

176 


Harkness  and  the  Seer 

goin'  to  d'scharge  me  an'  I  know  it.  Le'm  d'scharge. 
Who  keers  f'r  d'scharge  ?  I  don't  haf  to  be  cowboy, 
I  don't.  But  you  treat  Justin  right.  You've  got  to 
treat  (hie)  treat  him  right,  fer  he's  my  friend,  see!  " 

Fogg  protested  that  he  had  never  contemplated 
treating  Justin  in  any  other  way,  and  that  Justin  was 
his  good  friend  as  well  as  Harkness's. 

Wandering  about  Denver  that  day,  "  staring  like 
a  locoed  steer,"  as  he  afterward  expressed  it,  Hark 
ness  came  to  a  stand  in  front  of  a  doorway  and 
looked  at  a  man  who  had  emerged  therefrom.  The 
man  was  William  Sanders,  but  he  passed  on  with 
out  observing  Harkness. 

"  What's  he  doin'  up  here  ?  "  Harkness  queried, 
as  he  watched  the  familiar  figure  disappear  in  the 
crowd. 

Sanders  had  gone,  and  to  get  an  answer  to  his 
question  Harkness  stared  at  the  doorway,  and  the 
building,  a  somewhat  imposing  edifice  of  brick,  sit 
uated  on  one  of  the  principal  streets.  It  was  given 
over  to  offices  of  various  kinds,  he  judged ;  but  what 
fixed  his  eye  was  a  sign  with  a  painted  index-hand 
pointing  to  it. 

"  Madame  Manton,  Seer,  Fortune  teller,  Palmist, 
and  Clairvoyant.  Fortune  telling  and  astrology. 
The  past  and  the  future  revealed.  Lost  articles 
found,  dreams  interpreted,  lovers  re-united." 

There  was  a  statement  below  this,  in  much  smaller 
letters,  setting  forth  that  Madame  Manton,  who  was 
a  seventh  daughter  of  a  seventh  daughter  and  from 
birth  gifted  with  miraculous  second-sight,  had  just 
returned  to  America  after  a  prolonged  stay  in  Euro- 

177 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

pean  capitals,  during  which  she  had  achieved  marvel 
lous  successes  and  had  been  consulted  on  important 
matters  by  the  crowned  heads. 

Harkness  did  not  know  whether  to  connect  the 
egress  of  William  Sanders  from  that  doorway  with 
this  fortune  teller  or  not,  but  the  vagaries  of  his  in 
tellectual  condition  impelled  him  to  enter.  Follow 
ing  the  direction  of  the  pointing  hand,  he  was  soon 
climbing  a  stairway  which  led  to  the  door  of  this 
professed  mistress  of  the  black  arts.  Here  another 
sign,  with  even  more  emphatic  statements,  greeted 
him.  On  this  door  Harkness  hammered  lustily. 

"  Come  in !  "  said  a  voice. 

Harkness  tried  the  knob  with  fumbling  fingers, 
then  set  his  massive  shoulders  to  the  panel,  and  was 
fairly  precipitated  into  the  room  where  a  rosy  half- 
light  glowed  from  a  red  lamp,  and  the  sunlight, 
showing  through  heavy  red  curtains,  conjured  queer 
shadows  in  the  corners.  At  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  sat  a  woman.  She  was  robed  in  red,  and  her 
chair  was  red.  A  reddish  veil  hid  her  face.  But  the 
hand  she  extended  was  small  and  white,  and  flashed 
the  fire  of  diamonds. 

Harkness  was  so  taken  aback  that  he  was  almost 
on  the  point  of  bolting  from  the  room.  But  that 
would  have  savored  of  a  lack  of  courage,  and  his 
drink-buoyed  mind  resented  the  imputation.  He 
would  not  run,  even  from  a  red  fortune  teller.  See 
ing  a  chair  by  the  door  he  dropped  into  it,  stared  at 
the  woman,  and  not  knowing  what  else  to  do  took 
out  his  red  handkerchief  to  mop  his  red  face.  The 
odor  of  cinnamon  drops  floating  out  from  it  com- 


Harkness  and  the  Seer 

bined  with  that  of  the  whiskey  and  filled  the  room. 

"  If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  close  the  door! " 
said  the  woman. 

She  was  looking  at  him  intently.  He  closed  the 
door,  and  dropped  back  into  the  chair.  He  crossed 
his  legs  nervously,  then  uncrossed  them,  wiped  his 
face  again  with  the  scented  handkerchief,  and  finally 
stuck  his  big  hands  into  his  big  pockets  to  get  rid 
of  them.  He  was  dressed  in  half  cowboy  garb,  and 
it  began  to  dawn  on  him  that  he  was  "  cutting  a 
pretty  figure/'  sitting  there  with  that  fortune  teller. 

"  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  have  your  fortune  told  ?  " 
she  questioned. 

"  I  dunno  'bout  that !  "  he  protested,  his  big  hands 
burrowing  deep  into  his  pockets.  "  I  seen  a  feller 
come  from  this  way,  and  I  kinder  p'inted  my  toes 
in  the  same  direction.  Mebbe  you  was  tellin*  his 
fortune?" 

"  No  one  has  been  here  for  more  than  an  hour." 

"  Then  I  reckon  I  was  mistook.  Do  you  make  up 
these  here  fortunes  out  of  your  own  head,  or  how  ?  " 

"  I  tell  whatever  is  to  be  told." 

"Per  coin?" 

"  Yes,  for  coin.  Even  a  fortune  teller  must  live. 
Put  five  dollars  on  that  tray  beside  you  and  I  will 
begin." 

"If  you  can  tag  me,  I'll  make  it  ten !  " 

Harkness  put  a  crisp  five  dollar  bill  on  the  tray. 
If  she  had  said  ten  he  would  have  placed  that  there. 
Liquor  made  him  generous. 

"  You  do  not  believe  in  fortunes  ?  " 

"  Not  any,  lady.    I  stumbled  into  this  game,  and 

179 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

I'm  simply  playin'  it  fer  the  fun  of  it,  same's  I  used 
to  go  into  a  game  of  cards  with  Ben  Davison,  when 
I  knowed  good  and  well  he'd  skin  me.  I'm  goin'  up 
ag'inst  your  game,  lady,  and  payin'  before  the  game 
begins.  It's  cut  out  fer  me  to  lose,  but  I'll  double 
the  bet  and  lose  it  willin'  if  you  can  put  your  finger 
on  me  an'  tell  me  whatever  about  myself.  I  don't 
reckon  you  can  do  it." 

A  low  laugh  of  amusement  came  from  behind  the 
veil. 

"  You  might  as  well  put  down  the  other  five  dol 
lars  now,  to  save  you  the  trouble  of  doing  it  later." 

Then  she  leaned  forward  and  stared  at  him  so  in 
tently  that  he  felt  almost  nervous.  There  was  some 
thing  uncanny  in  that  rigid  stare,  and  in  the  strained 
tones  of  her  voice,  when  she  spoke  after  prolonged 
silence.  He  fancied  he  could  see  her  glowing  eyes 
through  the  mesh  of  the  veil. 

"  Your  last  name  begins  with  an  H.  Let  me  see ! 
It  is  something  like  Hearing.  No,  it  can't  be  that ! 
It's  Hark — Hark — Harkening.  No,  that  can't  be. 
I  can't  get  it;  but  I  didn't  promise  to  tell  names. 
There  are  a  great  many  cattle  where  you  live.  Yes, 
and  you  are  married.  That's  strange,  for  not  many 
cowboys  are  married.  You  have  a  little  girl." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  head,  and  was  silent  a 
moment. 

"  That's  very  queer.  The  name  of  your  little  girl, 
her  first  name,  begins  with  an  H."  She  uttered  a 
little  inarticulate  cry.  "  And,  oh,  dear,  she  seems 
to  be  surrounded  by  fire;  flames  are  on  all  sides  of 
her,  and  smoke !  And  she  is  frightened." 

1 80 


Harkness  and  the  Seer 

Harkness  started  from  his  chair. 

"  She  ain't  in  any  fire  now  ?  " 

The  woman  dropped  back  with  a  sigh. 

"  No,  not  now,"  she  admitted ;  "  that  is  past.  I 
am  telling  you  things  you  know  about,  so  that  you 
will  see  that  I  have  the  power  I  claim.  Some  one, 
some  one  on  horseback,  is  saving  her  from  that 
fire/' 

"  And  a  certain  cuss  is  skedaddlin'  without  liftin* 
a  finger  to  help  her !  "  said  Harkness  grimly.  "  Put 
that  in  the  picture,  fer  I  ain't  fergittin'  it." 

The  disclosures  which  followed  astonished  the  in 
toxicated  cowboy.  He  could  not  have  revealed  them 
more  clearly  himself.  The  fortune  teller  took  ex 
cursions  into  the  future  too,  in  a  way  to  please  him ; 
and,  as  she  could  tell  the  past  so  well,  he  was  glad 
to  believe  in  her  glittering  portrayals  of  delights  to 
come. 

Altogether  Harkness  was  bewildered  to  the  point 
of  stupefaction.  He  was  sure  he  had  never  seen 
this  woman  nor  she  him,  and  her  knowledge  pro 
duced  in  him  a  half-frightened  sensation.  Though 
he  always  resolutely  denied  it  to  himself  and  to 
others,  he  was  deeply  superstitious.  If  he  began  to 
sing  as  soon  as  he  rose  in  the  morning,  he  tried  to 
dissipate  the  bad  luck  that  foretold  by  singing  the 
words  backward.  If  he  chanced  to  observe  the  new 
moon  for  the  first  time  over  his  left  shoulder,  he 
turned  round  in  his  tracks  three  times  and  looked 
at  it  over  his  right.  If  he  saw  a  pin  on  the  floor  with 
its  point  toward  him  he  picked  it  up,  for  that  was  a 
sign  of  good  luck.  And  he  had  such  a  collection  of 

181 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

cast-off  horseshoes  he  could  have  started  a  shoeing 
shop  on  short  notice. 

Harkness  was  so  well  satisfied  with  the  fortune 
teller  that  when  she  concluded  he  dropped  the  second 
five  dollar  bill  on  the  tray. 

"  You're  as  welcome  to  it,  lady,  as  if  it  was 
water,"  he  declared.  "  Five  dollars  won't  count 
even  a  little  bit  when  I  come  into  the  fortune  you 
p'inted  out  to  me.  You're  a  silver-plated  seer  from 
the  front  counties.  You'll  find  Dicky  Carroll  jump- 
in'  into  this  red  boodoir  the  first  time  he  hits  Denver. 
I'll  tell  him  about  you,  and  it  '11  set  him  wild." 

Then  he  plunged  down  the  stairway,  fully  con 
vinced  that  he  had  received  the  full  worth  of  his 
money,  not  at  all  knowing  that  he  had  imparted 
much  more  information  than  he  had  received. 

When  he  was  gone  the  woman  leaned  back  in  her 
red  chair  and  laughed  until  the  tears  came  into  her 
eyes.  She  laid  aside  the  reddish  veil,  thus  revealing 
the  features  of  Sibyl  Dudley,  and  wiped  away  the 
tears  with  a  filmy  handkerchief. 

Then  she  began  to  make  an  estimate  of  the  value 
of  the  information  she  had  received  from  this  in 
toxicated  cowboy,  and  from  William  Sanders.  It 
was  considerable.  She  had  formed  many  of  her 
statements  so  craftily  that  they  were  questions,  and 
she  had  made  these  men  talk  about  themselves  and 
their  affairs  in  really  garrulous  fashion. 

When  a  little  time  had  elapsed  she  ventured  into 
the  street,  in  an  entirely  different  garb  and  veiled 
more  heavily.  Walking  across  the  street  she  hailed 
a  cab,  and  was  driven  home,  halting  however  at  a 

182 


Harkness  and  the  Seer 

corner  to  purchase  copies  of  the  latest  Denver  papers. 
At  home  she  began  to  absorb  their  contents. 

Sibyl  Dudley's  finances  were  at  a  low  ebb.  Mr. 
Plimpton,  the  stock  broker,  had  met  a  reverse  of 
fortune,  and  criminal  proceedings  being  hinted  by 
men  he  had  fleeced,  he  had  gone  into  exile.  Where 
he  was  Sibyl  did  not  know,  and  if  she  had  known 
he  could  not  have  helped  her,  for  he  had  now  no 
money.  With  debts  thickening  about  her,  and  no 
new  admirer  with  a  plethoric  bank  account  yet  ap 
pearing,  she  was  being  driven  to  desperate  extrem 
ities.  To  tide  over  this  day  of  evil  fortune  she  had, 
carefully  veiled  that  no  one  might  know  her,  become 
Madame  Manton. 

All  these  years  she  had  kept  Mary  Jasper  with  her. 
Her  attitude  toward  Mary  may  be  thought  singular. 
Yet  to  Sibyl  it  was  entirely  natural.  She  had 
plucked  and  worn  this  fair  flower  at  first  that  it 
might  add  to  her  attractiveness,  as  she  would  have 
plucked  a  wild  rose  to  tuck  in  her  corsage  on  some 
gay  evening  when  she  desired  to  accentuate  her 
physical  attractions  in  the  eyes  of  men.  But  the 
utter  simplicity  and  guilelessness  which  Mary  had 
worn  through  all  as  a  protecting  armor  had  touched 
some  hidden  spring  in  this  woman's  heart,  so  that 
she  came  at  last  to  cherish  a  brave  desire  to  stand 
well  in  the  opinion  of  this  pure  girl  and  maintain 
firmly  her  position  on  that  pinnacle  of  supposed 
goodness  and  kindness  where  Mary  had  established 
her.  Hence  her  charities  were  continued  by  and  by, 
not  to  create  that  inner  warmth  of  which  she  had 
spoken,  but  that  Mary  might  believe  her  to  be  char- 

183 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

liable.  And  if  any  good  angel  could  have  done  so 
great  a  thing  as  to  pull  her  from  that  miry  clay  in 
which  her  feet  were  set  Mary  Jasper  would,  all  un 
consciously,  have  accomplished  even  that.  Sibyl 
Dudley,  driven  back  upon  herself,  had  to  have  some 
one  who  could  love  and  respect  her;  for  in  spite  of 
all  she  was  a  woman,  and  love  was  starving  in  her 
heart. 

But  she  was  not  courageous  enough  to  be  honest ; 
and,  having  read  through  the  papers,  she  sat  think 
ing  and  planning  how  she  might  win  money  enough 
to  continue  her  present  fight  against  adverse  circum 
stances.  She  could  not  confess  to  Mary  that  she 
was  not  rich,  that  she  was  a  pretender,  and  vile  and 
degraded.  No,  she  could  not  do  that.  But  to  keep 
up  her  pretensions  she  must  have  money.  Fortune 
telling  was  an  odious  and  precarious  calling.  She 
was  sinking  deeper  into  debt.  She  must  have 
money. 

Putting  away  the  papers  and  going  to  her  mirror 
she  scanned  her  appearance.  In  spite  of  her  stren 
uous  fight,  Time  had  the*  slow-moving  years  with 
him,  and  they  bit  into  heart  and  face  like  acid.  She 
brought  forth  her  rouge  and  her  pencils.  They  had 
long  worked  wonders  and  her  slender  fingers  had 
not  lost  their  cunning.  She  was  an  artist  in  paint 
though  she  never  touched  brush  to  canvas. 

When  Mary  came  in  Sibyl  was  singing  in  a  light- 
hearted  way  and  thrusting  bits  of  cake  to  her  canary 
between  the  bars  of  its  gilded  cage. 


184 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   MOTH   AND  THE   FLAME 

CLAYTON  was  standing  idly  in  front  of  his 
hotel.  Sibyl  Dudley  and  Mary  Jasper  were 
driving  by  in  the  cool  bright  sunshine  of  the 
late  afternoon.  Sibyl  glanced  keenly  at  the  well- 
known  figure.  Clayton  had  lost  much  in  trimness 
and  neatness  of  appearance  by  his  long  sojourn  in 
Paradise  Valley.  His  clothing  was  ill-fitting,  and 
his  almost  useless  left  arm  appeared  to  swing  more 
stiffly  than  ever,  as  the  crowd  jostled  him.  The  con 
trast  between  the  stylishly-dressed  woman  in  the 
carriage  and  this  man  who  had  once  been  her  hus 
band  was  marked.  Yet  the  handsome  face  of  the 
man  was  still  there,  almost  unseamed,  and  it  re 
vealed  kindness  and  cultured  intelligence,  as  of  old. 

"  It  is  Doctor  Clayton !  "  she  said.  "  He  looks  so 
lonely  and  is  such  a  stranger  here  that  it  will  be  a 
kindness  if  we  speak  to  him.  I  knew  him  very  well 
once,  you  know." 

The  horses  had  trotted  on,  unnoticed  by  Clayton. 
Sibyl  spoke  now  to  the  driver,  and  the  carriage  was 
turned  and  driven  back  to  the  hotel.  The  old  desire 
to  prove  her  power  over  this  man  possessed  her. 
And  she  might  be  able  to  use  him ! 

"  Speak  to  him,"  she  said  to  Mary.     "  It  will 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

please  him,  I'm  sure,  to  meet  some  one  he  knows. 
And  it's  so  long  since  I  met  him  that  he  may  have 
forgotten  me  entirely." 

The  carriage  with  the  well-groomed  horses  in 
their  shining  harness  had  drawn  up  at  the  curb. 
Even  yet  the  abstracted  doctor  had  not  observed  the 
occupants  of  the  carriage.  But  now,  when  Mary 
addressed  him,  he  looked  up,  almost  startled  to  hear 
his  name  spoken  there.  He  recognized  Mary,  and 
his  face  flushed  a  deep  red  when  he  recognized  also 
the  woman  who  sat  smiling  beside  her. 

"It  is  Doctor  Clayton,  is  it  not?"  said  Sibyl, 
speaking  to  him  and  using  her  utmost  witchery. 
"  It  seems  so  strange  to  see  you  away  from  Paradise 
Valley.  But  it  is  a  pleasure." 

He  came  up  to  the  carriage,  hesitating  for  words. 
He  did  not  trust  this  woman,  yet  he  could  not  forget 
what  she  had  once  been  to  him.  And  he  had  always 
liked  Mary,  as  he  liked  her  crabbed  old  father.  He 
had  justified  himself  for  not  speaking  to  Sloan  Jas 
per,  with  the  thought  that  he  really  knew  nothing 
concerning  the  life  that  Sibyl  was  living.  When  a 
man  cannot  justify  his  actions  he  loses  self-respect, 
and  Clayton  had  never  lost  his  self-respect.  He  had 
known  nothing  of  Sibyl's  private  life  from  the  mo 
ment  of  his  plunge  into  the  world-forgotten  valley 
of  Paradise.  He  knew  nothing  now.  As  he  looked 
into  her  eyes,  the  trepidation  and  confusion  which 
had  produced  that  hot  flush  was  mingled  with  pity 
and  a  yearning  touch  of  the  old  love.  She  had 
faded,  she  was  garish,  yet  she  was  Sibyl,  and  to  him 

186 


The  Moth  and  the  Flame 

still  beautiful;  Sibyl,  whom  he  had  loved  and  mar 
ried,  and  from  whom  he  had  fled. 

"  You  are  looking  well/'  he  said  to  Mary,  though 
she  was  not  looking  well,  for  trouble  with  Ben  had 
set  shadows  in  her  dark  eyes.  "  And  you,  too 
Mrs. " 

He  hesitated. 

"Dudley,"  Sibyl  supplemented.  "We  haven't 
met  for  so  long  that  you  have  actually  forgotten  my 
name !  "  She  smiled  amiably.  "  Won't  you  take 
a  seat  with  us  for  a  little  spin  about  the  streets? 
This  crowd  bores  you,  I  know." 

He  still  hesitated,  hunting  for  words.  He  had 
never  felt  so  awkward,  nor  had  his  clothing  ever 
seemed  to  set  so  badly  or  look  so  mean.  He  began 
to  realize  that  in  Paradise  Valley  he  had  lost  some 
thing.  Where  was  the  neatly-dressed  college  stu 
dent,  rilled  with  learning  and  a  desire  to  please? 
Apparently  only  the  learning  and  the  desire  to  please 
remained.  And  that  desire  to  please,  which  often 
took  the  form  of  an  inability  to  displease  any  one, 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  refuse  this  invitation. 

Clayton,  entering  the  carriage,  found  himself  by 
Sibyl's  dexterous  manipulation  placed  in  the  seat  at 
her  side,  with  Mary  in  the  seat  in  front  of  them.  He 
looked  at  Mary  as  the  carriage  started,  and  he  won 
dered,  and  his  heart  smote  him.  Then  he  looked  at 
the  woman  who  sat  with  him. 

"  She  is  very  happy  with  me,"  said  Sibyl,  as  the 
horses  beat  their  noisy  tattoo  through  the  street, 
deadening  the  sound  of  her  voice.  "  And  there  isn't 
a  better  girl  in  the  world !  "  There  was  a  peculiar 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

emphasis  on  the  words.  "  If  you  thought  differ 
ently,  you  have  been  much  mistaken.  She  has  been 
as  safe  with  me  as  that  boy  Justin  has  been  with 
you ;  and  I  love  her  as  much  as  you  can  possibly  love 
him.  She  is  a  dear,  true,  simple-hearted  girl,  and 
she  thinks  everything  of  me.  And  I  am  much  better 
than  you  have  ever  thought.  So  don't  get  silly  ideas 
into  your  head,  simply  because  you  see  this  carriage 
and  I  wear  a  few  diamonds.  The  carriage  may  be 
hired  and  the  diamonds  paste.  It  was  one  of  your 
dogmas,  you  know,  that  people  should  always  hold 
charitable  opinions." 

"  And  I  do.  I  have  always  thought  kindly  of  you 
and  had  charitable  opinions  of  you.  One  never 
knows  what  he  would  do  if  put  in  the  position  of 
another.  I  was  hurt,  crushed;  but  I  never  could 
have  it  in  my  heart  to  blame  you  for  anything. 
Sometimes  I  felt  bitter,  but  even  the  bitterness  has 
long  since  worn  away." 

Mary  turned  in  her  seat  and  began  to  speak  to 
them,  and  the  conversation  was  not  taken  up  until 
Clayton  and  Sibyl  were  alone  together  in  her  home, 
to  which  they  were  driven  after  they  had  traversed  a 
few  streets.  Sibyl  was  anxious  to  get  Clayton  to 
herself,  and  she  therefore  cut  the  drive  short,  com 
plaining  of  the  chill  of  approaching  night. 

Mary,  fluttering  about  the  rooms,  came  into  the 
parlor  and  went  out  again  at  intervals.  Sibyl  had 
kindly  relieved  her  of  the  task  of  entertaining  Clay 
ton.  Remembering  the  story  of  his  broken  arm, 
Mary  felt  a  deep  sympathy  for  him,  yet  she  had 
never  been  able  to  converse  with  him  at  length.  He 

1 88 


The  Moth  and  the  Flame 

was  so  learned  and  wise,  and  at  times  so  strange  and 
silent,  that  he  oppressed  her.  She  revered  him,  but 
she  could  not  talk  with  him.  Besides,  she  had  a 
letter  to  write  to  Ben,  who  was  coming  to  Denver 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  she  wanted  to  think  about  Ben 
and  what  she  should  say  to  him  in  that  letter.  The 
composition  of  a  letter  even  to  Ben  was  not  always 
an  easy  thing;  and  though  she  still  wrote  to  her 
father  each  Sunday,  what  she  said  to  him  was  so 
brief,  sometimes,  that  for  all  the  space  required  to 
contain  it  she  might  have  sprawled  it  on  a  postal 
card. 

While  Mary  thought  of  Ben  and  studied  for 
words  and  sentences  before  secluding  herself  to  be 
gin  the  actual  work  of  writing,  she  gave  thought  also 
to  Clayton  and  Sibyl,  and  was  quite  sure  that  Sibyl 
was  kind  and  charitable  in  thus  seeking  to  give 
pleasure  to  the  lonely  doctor  who  had  been  appar 
ently  at  a  loss  in  the  Denver  streets.  And  then,  it 
came  like  a  flash — what  if  Clayton  should  fall  in 
love  with  Sibyl,  and  they  should  marry?  It  seemed 
to  her  that  much  stranger  things  had  happened. 
And  in  contemplating  this  new  and  bright  sugges 
tion  she  built  up  a  very  pretty  little  romance,  which 
had  a  marked  resemblance  to  some  of  those  which 
Pearl  used  to  read.  Romantic  ideas  fluttered  in 
Mary's  pretty  head  as  thickly  as  butterflies  amid 
Japanese  cherry  blossoms. 

When  she  began  the  composition  of  her  letter, 
dipping  her  gold  pen  in  the  blue  ink  which  Ben  liked. 
Sibyl  was  at  the  piano  and  singing  in  a  way  to  dis 
turb  the  flow  of  her  thoughts. 

189 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  But  she  has  a  beautiful  voice !  "  thought  Mary, 
laying  down  the  pen  and  listening  with  admiration. 
:<  Wouldn't  it  be  strange  if  they  should  take  a  fancy 
to  each  other  and  marry  ?  " 

It  appeared  entirely  possible,  now  that  Mr.  Plimp 
ton  had  departed  from  Denver. 

Sibyl  was  singing  one  of  the  old  songs  that 
touched  the  deep  springs  of  the  past,  and  Clayton 
with  inexpressible  yearning  was  wishing  that  the 
years  between  could  drop  away  and  he  could  be  her 
willing  slave  again.  The  love  that  had  been  dead, 
though  it  came  forth  now  bound  about  with  grave- 
clothes,  lived  again,  and  spoke  to  his  heart  a  familiar 
language. 

"  You  remember  the  song  ?  "  she  said,  looking  up 
into  his  face  and  smiling.  He  had  come  forward 
to  the  piano. 

"  Yes,"  he  confessed.  "  I  shall  never  forget  it. 
You  sang  it  the  evening  you  told  me  you  loved  me 
and  would  be  my  wife.  I  wish  you  had  chosen  an 
other." 

"Why?" 

She  looked  steadily  into  his  eyes,  half  veiling  her 
own  with  their  dark  lashes. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  ask,"  he  said,  and  retreated 
to  his  chair.  "  The  change  since  then  is  too  great. 
I  am  not  the  same,  and  you  are  not  the  same."  He 
glanced  at  his  stiff  arm  and  his  ill-fitting  clothing. 
"  Nothing  can  ever  be  the  same  again." 

She  was  studying  how  she  might  win  him,  if  only 
temporarily.  Certain  plans  were  no  longer  fluid, 
and  she  believed  she  could  use  him. 

190 


The  Moth  and  the  Flame 

"  That  doesn't  sound  like  you,  Curtis." 

"  Sibyl,"  he  threw  out  his  stiff  arm  with  a  protest 
ing  gesture,  "  I  hope  you  are  not  trying  to  play  with 
me,  as  a  cat  with  a  mouse.  You  know  how  I  have 
always  felt  toward  you.  You  know  that  even  after 
you  sold  yourself  to  that  man  Plimpton,  I " 

She  commanded  silence  by  putting  her  fingers  to 
her  lips ;  and  tip-toeing  to  the  door  she  closed  it,  that 
Mary  might  not  by  any  chance  hear  his  unguarded 
words. 

"  Even  after  that  I  would  have  taken  you  back 
gladly,  and  could  have  forgiven  you  and  loved  you, 
for  I  was  always  a  fool  about  you.  You  will  pardon 
me  for  speaking  so  plainly?  I  don't  want  to  hurt 
your  feelings.  I  went  away,  as  you  know,  and  have 
tried  to  find  peace  by  burying  myself  from  the  world. 
And  I  have  found  peace,  of  a  certain  kind.  But  I 
am  not  the  same  as  I  was.  I  hope  I  am  not  as  weak 
as  I  was." 

Yet  he  knew  he  had  at  that  moment  no  more  sta 
bility  than  water.  If  he  could  have  believed  any 
protestation  she  might  make,  he  would  have  done  so 
joyfully,  and  would  have  gone  far  to  purchase  such 
a  belief. 

"  I  have  been  a  great  fool  in  many  ways,"  she 
admitted.  "  But  I  hope  not  a  bigger  fool  than  the 
man  who  pitches  himself  headlong  out  of  the  living 
world  into  a  desert  simply  because  he  and  his  wife 
have  agreed  to  a  separation.  But  as  you  say,  all  that 
is  past,  and  there  is  no  need  to  talk  about  it.  Now 
I  want  to  forget  it  and  be  your  friend,  if  I  can't  be 
anything  else." 

191 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"What  else  would  you  be?" 

He  spoke  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  At  present,  just  your  friend.  You  need  a  friend, 
and  I  need  one.  We  have  been  enemies  a  good 
while.  Let  us  forget  that,  and  be  friends  again." 

"  Mere  friendship  with  you  would  never  satisfy 
me,  Sibyl.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  Unless 
I  could  be  your  husband,  and  hold  you  heart-true  to 
me  as  my  wife,  I  could  never  be  anything  to  you." 

Though  shaken  by  his  emotions  he  spoke  with 
unusual  determination.  Thoughts  of  Plimpton 
aroused  whatever  militant  manhood  there  was  in 
him.  For  the  instant  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  have 
killed  Plimpton,  and  that  his  flight  had  been  the 
flight  of  a  coward.  Sibyl  saw  that  she  was  ap 
proaching  him  from  the  wrong  side. 

"  Yet  mere  friendship,  as  you  call  it,  is  a  good 
thing.  The  friendship  between  Mary  and  myself, 
for  instance,  and  that  between  you  and  Justin — you 
will  not  say  they  are  worthless.  You  even  came  up 
to  Denver,  I  think,  to  see  Justin,  because  you  could 
not  bear  to  be  separated  long  from  him. 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly,  with  a  mental  ques 
tion. 

"  Don't  put  your  hands  on  him !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool!  "  she  said.  "  Why  should  I? 
But  I  won't  beg  for  the  favor  of  your  friendship. 
I  thought  we  might  be  friends,  good  friends.  You 
could  establish  yourself  here  in  the  city,  and  we  could 
see  each  other  occasionally,  if  nothing  else.  I  am 
a  better  woman  than  I  used  to  be,  a  very  much  better 
woman  than  you  will  believe  me  to  be.  Mary  has 

192 


The  Moth  and  the  Flame 

done  that  for  me.  And  I  suppose  you  thought  I 
would  ruin  her  ?  That  shows  that  you  never  under 
stood  me." 

"  I  couldn't  stay  here  in  Denver !  "  he  protested. 

"  We  might  be  even  more  than  friends,  some 
time/'  she  urged  sweetly. 

"  Sibyl,"  he  seemed  about  to  rise  from  his  chair, 
but  sank  back,  "  if  I  could  believe  you!  " 

Her  words,  which  he  knew  to  be  lies,  were  still 
sweet.  His  heart  was  filled  with  unutterable  long 
ing,  not  for  "  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand,"  but  for 
a  vanished  past. 

"  I  will  be  your  friend,"  he  said  earnestly,  after 
a  moment.  "  I  have  never  been  anything  else,  ex 
cept  when  I  was  your  devoted  lover  and  foolish  hus 
band.  I  should  like  to  be  both  again,  if  I  could." 

"  Even  that  might  be.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
forgetting,  you  know." 

"  Not  for  me." 

"  Then  a  forgiving." 

"  Yes.  Until  to-night  I  thought  I  had  forgiven, 
and  I  was  trying  to  forget.  I  shall  be  glad  to  be 
your  friend,  Sibyl.  As  to  establishing  myself  in 
Denver,  to  be  near  you,  I  will  think  about  it.  If — 
if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  memory,  we  might 
still  be  very  happy." 

His  under-current  of  common  sense  told  him  that 
he  had  again  entered  a  fool's  paradise. 

"  We  can  be  happy,  Curtis  You  shall  not  leave 
Denver.  I  need  more  than  your  friendship.  I  need 
your  love.  I  tossed  it  away,  but  I  didn't  know  what 
I  was  doing.  I  need  your  love,  and  I  know  you  will 

193 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

not  refuse  it.  You  never  refused  me  anything; 
whatever  I  asked,  you  gave  me." 

He  had  already  given  her  his  life ! 

In  his  room  at  the  hotel  that  night  Clayton  packed 
and  unpacked  his  valise,  in  a  state  of  delirious  uncer 
tainty.  In  the  mirror  he  beheld  his  face,  ghastly  as 
that  of  a  dead  man.  But,  slowly,  his  philosophy 
came  to  his  aid. 

"  Lies,  and  I  know  it !  And  I  am  a  coward !  The 
thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  get  back  into  the  wilder 


ness." 


The  next  morning  he  was  gone.  The  letter  which 
came  shortly  urged  Justin,  in  a  shaky  hand,  to  stand 
for  principle,  no  matter  what  happened,  and  ex 
plained  that  the  writer  felt  that  he  must  hurry 
home. 


194 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  COMPACT 

LEMUEL  FOGG  was  very  much  astonished 
when  he  received  a  call  from  Sibyl  Dudley, 
who  invaded  the  privacy  of  his  room  with 
out  taking  the  trouble  to  announce  her  coming. 
Fogg  did  not  know  much  about  Mrs.  Dudley,  ex 
cept  that  she  was  a  friend  and  patron  of  Sloan  Jas 
per's  pretty  daughter,  and  lived  in  Denver.  He  had 
once  remarked  to  an  acquaintance,  as  she  passed, 
that  she  was  "  a  stunning  woman."  And  he  was 
not  ready  to  withdraw  that  opinion  now,  when  he 
saw  her  before  him.  Having  sallied  forth  to  con 
quer,  she  had  not  neglected  anything  that  would  add 
to  her  attractiveness  in  masculine  eyes. 

It  did  not  take  Sibyl  long  to  acquaint  Fogg  with 
the  nature  of  her  errand.  She  was  tactfully  frank, 
for  she  knew  how  to  reach  such  a  man. 

"  Mr.  Fogg,  I'm  horribly  in  debt,"  she  announced, 
looking  him  in  the  face  without  the  quiver  of  an 
eyelash.  "  I  must  have  money,  five  thousand  dol 
lars,  to  be  paid  to  me  if  I  prevent  Justin  Wingate 
from  giving  his  vote  to  the  man  the  irrigationists 
want  for  United  States  senator." 

He  stared  at  her.  How  handsome  she  was !  And 
what  nerve  she  displayed!  Not  one  woman  in  a 

195 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

thousand  would  have  made  such  a  confession,  or 
come  at  him  in  that  manner.  Her  idea  appealed  to 
him,  if  there  was  anything  in  it. 

"  Why,  what  can  you  do  ? "  he  asked.  He 
smoothed  his  limp  mustache,  and  wondered  if  his 
collar  set  just  right;  he  knew  he  had  forgotten  to 
turn  his  reversible  cuffs  that  morning !  "  What  can 
you  do,  Mrs.  Dudley?  Everything  has  been  done 
that  can  be  done  already.  I've  begged  him,  argued 
with  him,  prayed  with  him;  and  every  man  on  our 
side  who  is  supposed  to  have  the  least  influence  with 
him  has  done  the  same  thing.  We  have  even  threat 
ened  him.  Promises,  threats,  bribes,  nothing  will 
move  him." 

Sibyl  smiled  at  him  across  the  little  table.  She 
had  beautiful  teeth. 

"  It  can  be  done,"  she  said,  with  sweet  conviction. 

So  singular  and  confident  was  her  expression  that 
he  was  almost  tempted  to  look  into  her  ungloved 
right  hand  to  see  if  she  clasped  a  poniard.  He  saw 
only  the  flash  of  her  rings. 

"  Why,  what  would  you  do ;"  he  cried,  in  sudden 
amazement ;  "knife  him  ?  " 

She  gave  him  a  glance  of  scorn,  which  melted  at 
once  into  a  captivating  smile. 

"  How  absurd  you  are !  Who  ever  dreamed  of 
such  a  thing?  This  isn't  the  Back  of  Beyond." 

"What  would  you  do?" 

"  Is  it  worth  five  thousand  dollars  to  you  if  Justin 
Wingate  does  not  vote  against  the  cattlemen's  candi 
date  for  senator  ?  " 

196 


The  Compact 

He  regarded  her  thoughtfully,  and  jingled  the 
watch  chain  that  lay  across  his  round  stomach. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  "  it's  worth  every  cent  of  it." 

"  Will  you  agree  to  pay  me  that  sum  if  I  do  keep 
him  from  casting  that  vote  ?  I  am  in  debt  and  must 
have  money;  five  thousand  dollars  is  little  enough; 
but  if  you  will  satisfy  me  that  you  will  give  me  that 
much  money  I  will  prevent  that  vote." 

"  Tell  me  how  you're  going  to  do  it." 

"  If  I  told  you  I  should  render  my  services  value 
less.  You  will  have  to  trust  everything  to  me." 

"  You  want  me  to  sign  a  note,  or  promise ;  I 
couldn't  do  that.  It  wouldn't  be  good  politics." 

"  Then  you  will  have  to  pay  me  something  in  ad 
vance.  I  must  be  secured  in  some  manner." 

Lemuel  Fogg  had  never  yet  bought  a  pig  in  a 
poke,  and  he  did5  not  intend  to  begin  that  doubtful 
practice  now.  He  questioned  Sibyl  Dudley's  ability 
to  do  what  she  said.  She  was  a  very  charming 
woman;  he  admired  her  very  much;  but  beautiful 
women  had  never  the  power  to  make  Lemuel  Fogg 
cut  his  purse-strings.  So  he  refused,  very  tactfully 
and  graciously,  as  becomes  a  man  who  has  to  refuse 
anything  to  a  pretty  woman.  She  saw  that  it  was 
a  refusal,  and  final. 

"What  will  you  do,  then?"  she  asked.  "If 
Justin  casts  that  vote  you  lose  your  senator.  I  can 
keep  him  from  casting  it." 

"  If  you  will  be  quite  frank  with  me,  we'll  get  on 
faster,  Mrs.  Dudley,"  Fogg  urged.  "  You  could 
perhaps  tell  me  something  of  your  plans ;  I  don't  ask 

197 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

to  know  too  much.  But  five  thousand  dollars  is  a 
big  sum  of  money." 

"  It's  a  small  sum,  Mr.  Fogg,  for  what  I  propose 
to  do.  You  don't  believe  I  can  prevent  Justin  from 
voting  against  your  man.  I  can  see  you  don't." 

"  Well,  I'll  say  this  much — nobody  else  could ! 
Everything  has  been  tried  that  could  be  thought  of. 
The  fellow  is  a  fool,  and  it's  impossible  to  reason 
with  a  fool." 

"  Justin  is  anything  but  a  fool,  but  he  has  an  un 
comfortable  lot  of  queer  notions.  I  think  he  must 
have  obtained  them  from  that  doctor  he  has  been 
living  with  down  in  Paradise  Valley.  I  chance  to 
know  something  of  the  character  of  Doctor  Clayton ; 
and  while  he  is,  I  suppose,  one  of  the  best  men  in  the 
world,  so  far  as  pure  goodness  goes,  he  is  as  foolish 
and  illogical  as  a  cat,  or  a  woman." 

'  Yet  you  are  a  woman !  " 

Fogg  was  beginning  to  be  comfortable  again.  He 
would  not  have  to  advance  money  to  Mrs.  Dudley, 
and  having  safely  weathered  that  dangerous  cape  he 
felt  better. 

"  All  women  are  not  cats  or  fools.  For  instance, 
I  am  not  so  foolish  as  not  to  know  the  value  of 
money,  and  the  value  of  the  ability  I  happen  to  have. 
You  say  you  won't  advance  me  anything ;  what  will 
you  do  ?  " 

Fogg  looked  at  her  and  jingled  his  watch  chain. 

"  Mrs.  Dudley,  I'm  willing  to  be  as  generous  as 
you  can  expect,  conditionally.  If  that  money  should 
be  paid  I'd  have  to  take  a  big  part  of  it  out  of  my 
own  pocket.  The  rest  I  could  probably  raise  among 


The  Compact 

my  friends.  I  will  promise  you,  as  faithfully  as  a 
promise  can  be  made  that  is  not  put  in  writing,  that 
if  by  any  means  you  can  induce  or  force  Justin  Win- 
gate  to  vote  for  our  man  for  United  States  senator, 
or  even  to  withhold  his  vote  from  the  opposition, 
you  shall  have  the  five  thousand  dollars  you  named. 
We  could  win  with  his  vote,  and  if  he  refused  to  vote 
at  all  I  think  we  still  could  win.  Will  that  promise 
do?" 

"  Five  thousand  dollars  is  not  enough,  if  I  am  to 
have  no  money  in  advance.  I  shall  charge  you  in 
terest  ;  a  thousand  dollars  in  interest."  She  laughed 
lightly.  "  Give  me  your  promise  that  if  Justin  re 
fuses  to  cast  his  vote  for  United  States  senator,  or 
votes  for  your  man,  I  may  draw  on  you  for  six  thou 
sand  dollars  through  any  bank  if  you  do  not  pay  the 
money  at  once,  and  I  will  demonstrate  my  ability  to 
control  him.  Six  thousand  dollars  if  I  succeed,  and 
not  a  cent  if  I  fail.  That  is  fair." 

Fogg  twisted  uneasily  in  his  chair,  which  was  al 
most  too  small  for  his  big  body. 

"  You're  trying  to  drive  a  hard  bargain.  Re 
member  that  I  shall  probably  have  to  pay  the  most 
of  that  money  myself,  if  you  succeed." 

"If  you're  as  shrewd  as  I  think  you  are  you  will 
not  have  to  pay  a  cent  of  it ;  you  can  twist  it  out  of 
men  who  are  interested  in  this  matter.  I  feel  sure 
that  your  candidate  for  senator,  together  with  his 
friends  and  the  cattlemen,  would  raise  ten  thousand 
dollars,  and  not  say  a  word  against  it,  if  this  thing 
could  be  guaranteed.  I've  studied  the  papers,  Mr. 
Fogg." 

199 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

She  laughed  again  lightly. 

"  Yes,  if  it  could  be  guaranteed." 

"  This  is  the  same ;  the  money  can  be  raised  con 
ditionally;  you  can  get  it  together  in  some  bank, 
with  the  understanding  that  it  is  to  be  returned  to 
those  who  contribute,  every  cent,  if  the  thing  is  not 
accomplished.  And  another  thing,  Mr.  Fogg ;  it  will 
be  as  well  not  to  mention  my  name  in  the  matter. 
Political  secrets  must  be  kept  close,  when  so  many 
newspaper  men  are  around.  If  Justin  should  once 
get  the  idea  into  his  head  that  a  deliberate  attempt 
is  being  made  to  control  him  everything  would  be 
lost." 

"  Yes,  I  agree  with  you  there."  He  put  his  fat 
hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  settled  back 
heavily.  He  was  running  over  the  list  of  men  from 
whom  money  might  be  secured.  "  And  I  think  I 
can  raise  the  money,  if  necessary.  Six  thousand  dol 
lars  to  you  if  Justin  Wingate  does  not  vote,  or  votes 
for  our  man ;  and  you  can  draw  on  me  for  it  the  day 
after  a  United  States  senator  is  elected,  if  I  fail  to 
pay  it.  It's  a  bargain;  and  I  hope  I  shall  have  to 
pay  it." 

"  You  will  have  to  pay  it.  Pardon  me  if  I  say  to 
you  that  I  didn't  come  here  on  a  fool's  errand.  I 
have  your  promise,  and  I  shall  consider  it  as  binding 
as  a  note." 

She  arose,  still  looking  at  him.  For  a  moment  she 
hesitated,  then  put  out  her  ungloved  hand.  He  had 
scrambled  out  of  his  chair,  and  he  took  the  hand, 
giving  it  a  warm  pressure. 

"  Mr.  Fogg,  now  that  we  know  each  other,  we 

200 


The  Compact 

can  help  each  other ! "  She  fixed  her  clear  dark 
eyes  upon  his.  On  her  upturned  face  he  observed 
a  single  rouge  spot,  hastily  applied,  but  it  did  not 
trouble  him;  his  thought  was  that  she  was  very 
beautiful.  The  touch  of  her  warm  hand  tingled  in 
his  large  one.  "  And  I  hope,"  she  hesitated  in  a 
most  attractive  manner,  "  that  we  can  be  very  good 
friends!" 

"  I  should  like  to,  Mrs.  Dudley,  I  should  like  to ; 
and  I'll  get  you  that  money.  You  needn't  be  afraid 
that  I'll  fail  in  that.  You  shall  have  the  whole  of  it, 
if  I  have  to  pay  it  myself.  I'm  very  glad  that  you 
came  to  see  me  in  this  manner,  privately.  You're 
a  woman  to  know." 

He  laughed  coarsely. 

But  when  she  was  gone,  when  her  personality  no 
longer  enthralled,  and  he  sat  down  to  think  of  her 
visit  in  cold  blood,  Lemuel  Fogg  began  to  feel  that 
it  might  not  be  a  good  thing  for  his  bank  account  if 
he  knew  Mrs.  Dudley  too  intimately. 

"  But  I'm  glad  she  came,"  he  thought,  as  he 
settled  back  in  his  chair,  put  his  feet  on  the  table  for 
comfort,  and  struck  a  match  to  light  his  cigar ;  "we 
must  have  that  note ;  or  at  least  we  must  get  it  away 
from  the  opposition,  if  it  can  be  done.  I'll  begin  a 
hustle  for  that  money  to-morrow.  But  I  wonder 
how  she  expects  to  control  him?  By  smiling  on 
him,  as  she  did  on  me  ?  " 


201 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  THRALL  OF  THE  PAST 

SIBYL   DUDLEY   searched   for  both   Curtis 
Clayton  and  William  Sanders.     When  she 
could  not  find  them,  she  reasoned  that  they 
had  gone  back  to  Paradise  Valley,  and  sent  them 
letters  urging  them  to  return  to  Denver.    Ben  had 
arrived,  and  after  a  talk  with  Sibyl,  and  another 
with  Mary,  he  had  induced  Mary  to  send  a  pressing 
invitation  to  Lucy  Davison  to  visit  her  for  a  few 
days. 

Meanwhile,  Justin  was  trying  to  find  himself. 
The  violence  and  virulence  of  party  and  factional 
feeling  astonished  him.  He  had  not  known  that 
men  could  be  so  rabid  and  unreasonable.  He  was 
as  bewildered  by  the  discovery,  and  by  the  furious 
assaults  made  on  him  by  men  and  newspapers,  as  he 
had  been  by  the  surprising  fact  of  his  election.  He 
could  not  have  been  assailed  more  vindictively  if  he 
had  been  a  criminal.  To  hold  an  honest  opinion 
honestly  seemed  to  be  considered  a  crime  by  those 
whom  it  antagonized. 

Candor  had  ever  been  impressed  on  him  as  a  cardi 
nal  virtue.  It  brought  a  shock  to  discover  that  it 
was  anything  but  a  virtue  in  this  political  world  to 
which  he  was  so  new.  Concealment,  duplicity,  the 

202 


The  Thrall  of  the  Past 

accomplishment  of  a  purpose  by  fair  means  or  foul, 
these  seemed  to  be  the  things  that  had  value.  It 
was  true  that  a  certain  faction  in  Denver  agreed 
with  him,  but  the  agreement  was  for  pecuniary  and 
material  reasons.  He  could  see  that  if  their  inter 
ests  lay  in  the  other  direction  they  would  oppose  him 
as  heartily.  Even  these  men  could  not  keep  from 
pointing  out  to  him  how  much  he  was  to  gain. 
They  thought  to  stiffen  his  courage  by  assuring  him 
that  he  was  on  the  side  that  must  win.  As  if  that 
would  move  him  now!  No  man  seemed  able  to 
understand  that  the  opinions  he  held  and  expressed 
had  no  root  in  a  desire  to  advance  himself  or  enrich 
himself. 

With  these  discoveries  came  a  temporary  weaken 
ing  of  his  faith.  He  was  no  Sir  Oracle,  and  had 
never  pretended  to  be,  and  he  began  to  doubt  him 
self  and  his  conclusions.  He  wanted  to  do  right, 
but  what  was  right?  Was  it  an  abstraction,  after 
all?  He  had  never  before  questioned  the  certainty 
of  those  inner  feelings  on  which  he  had  always  relied 
for  guidance.  Was  conscience  but  a  thing  of  educa 
tion  ?  A  man  had  told  him  so  but  the  day  before. 

As  there  was  no  help  outwardly  he  had  to  burrow 
for  it  inwardly.  The  stimulating  wine  of  memory 
lay  inward,  and  he  drew  on  it  for  strength,  recalling 
those  hours  and  even  days  of  quiet  thought  and  talk 
with  Clayton  which  followed  the  election.  Before 
him  in  all  its  pristine  beauty  rose  that  dream  of 
Peter  Wingate,  that  the  desert,  by  which  Wingate 
meant  Paradise  Valley,  should  blossom  as  the  rose. 
Wingate's  hopeful  and  prophetic  sermons  had  made 

203 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

a  deep  impression  on  the  plastic  mind  of  the  boy  who 
heard  them.  Though  Justin  scarcely  knew  it,  that 
dream  of  a  redeemed  desert,  working  slowly  through 
the  years,  had  become  his  own.  It  had  long  been 
merely  a  vague  desire,  holding  at  first  the  form  given 
to  it  by  the  minister,  that  settlers  might  come  in 
and  till  the  land.  But  Justin  had  long  since  seen 
that  if  settlers  came  in,  they  must  go  out  again  if 
water  was  not  to  be  had,  and  that  irrigation  alone 
possessed  the  transforming  power  which  could  make 
the  dream  a  reality. 

The  farmers  now  in  Paradise  Valley  were  irrigat 
ing  as  well  as  they  could.  They  had  little  money  and 
their  devices  were  of  a  make-shift  character.  Yet 
wherever  they  could  induce  water  to  flow  the  desert 
bloomed.  Justin  had  come  to  sympathize  with  them 
in  their  struggle  against  adverse  conditions  the  more 
perhaps  because  he  had  so  long  held  that  guilty 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  Ben  Davison  had  cut 
their  dam. 

In  thus  surveying  the  field  before  him  and  choos 
ing  between  the  cattlemen  and  the  irrigationists,  as 
they  were  represented  in  the  valley  of  Paradise, 
which  was  the  only  world  he  knew  well,  Justin  had 
a  growing  comprehension  of  that  large  truth,  that 
if  he  who  makes  two  blades  of  grass  to  grow  where 
but  one  grew  before  is  a  benefactor,  a  still  greater 
one  is  the  man  who  changes  a  cattle  range,  where 
ten  acres  will  hardly  support  a  cow,  to  an  irrigated 
land  where  five  acres  will  sustain  a  home.  This  was 
the  thing  indefinitely  and  faultily  foreshadowed  in 
Peter  Wingate's  dream. 

204 


The  Thrall  of  the  Past 

The  conditions  in  Paradise  Valley  were  duplicated 
in  many  places  throughout  the  state.  Should  the, 
struggling  farmers  give  way  to  the  cattlemen,  or 
should  they  be  assisted?  If  the  farmers  held  the 
irrigable  lands  there  would  be  plenty  of  range  left; 
for  there  were  millions  of  acres  which  could  never 
be  touched  by  water,  where  cattle  could  graze  undis- 
turbing  and  undisturbed.  But  the  cattlemen  coveted 
the  rich  valleys  where  water  could  be  secured  with 
out  the  expense  of  pumps  and  windmills,  as  well  as 
the  dry,  bunch-grass  uplands. 

To  hold  the  land  they  now  occupied  but  did  not 
own,  they  had  allied  themselves  with  the  political 
party  which  promised  a  senator  whose  influence  at 
Washington  should  favor  them.  If  the  agricultural 
ists  won,  the  illegal  fences  stretched  on  every  league 
of  grazing  land  would  have  to  come  down,  and  that 
would  be  a  serious  if  not  fatal  blow  to  the  ranch 
industry  as  it  was  then  conducted.  Already  there 
were  threats  and  warnings  from  Washington. 

All  this  Justin  included  in  his  wide  survey  of  the 
conditions  which  confronted  him.  A  poll  of  the 
votes  to  be  cast  had  shown  that  he  held  in  his  hand 
the  deciding  ballot.  If  he  says  it  to  the  cattlemen 
their  candidate  for  United  States  senator  would  be 
elected,  and  would  use  his  influence  to  keep  the 
government  from  interfering  with  the  illegal  fences ; 
the  farmers  would  have  to  continue  their  unequal 
struggle,  and  perhaps  would  be  forced  ultimately  out 
of  the  country;  present  ranch  conditions  would  be 
maintained,  and  each  winter  would  witness  a  recur 
rence,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  of  that  terrible 

•205 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

tragedy  of  the  unsheltered  range,  where  helpless 
animals  perished  by  hundreds  in  the  pitiless  storms. 

Influenced  by  Clayton  and  by  the  circumstances 
and  incidents  of  his  ranch  life,  Justin  could  not  help 
feeling  that  the  open  range  stood  for  barbarous 
cruelty,  and  agriculture  for  the  reverse.  He  was  the 
thrall  of  the  past.  As  often  as  that  memory  of  the 
unsheltered  range  came  back  to  him,  and  out  of  the 
swirling  snows  starving  and  freezing  cattle  looked 
at  him  with  hungry  eyes,  while  his  ears  caught  their 
low  moanings  mingled  with  the  death  song  of  the 
icy  wind,  he  felt  that  his  intuitions  were  right,  and 
his  doubts  fled  away. 

Then  would  come  the  conviction  that  he  had  been 
led,  until  he  stood  where  he  was  now.  Was  it  not 
a  strange  thing,  he  reflected  at  such  times,  that  he, 
who  as  a  boy  had  sickened  at  the  branding  of  a  calf, 
who  later  had  suffered  heart-ache  with  Clayton  over 
the  tragedies  of  the  range,  who  from  the  first  had 
sympathized  with  the  farmers  even  as  Wingate  had 
sympathized  with  them,  should  stand  where  he  stood 
now?  In  his  hand  lay  great  issues.  If  he  proved 
true,  he  would  become,  without  design  or  volition 
on  his  part,  the  sword  of  the  irrigationists.  The 
question  which  he  faced  was  whether  or  not  he 
should  be  true  to  that  dream  of  a  blossoming  desert 
and  to  the  teachings  of  Clayton. 

Harkness  had  assured  him,  with  much  vehemence, 
that  there  were  "  no  strings  on  him ;  "  the  cowboys 
had  given  him  their  votes  because  they  desired  to 
testify  thus  to  their  admiration  of  his  bravery  and 
their  detestation  of  the  conduct  of  Ben  Davison. 

206 


The  Thrall  of  the  Past 

Yet  Justin  knew  there  were  "  strings  on  him," — in 
fluences,  friendships,  feelings,  hopes  and  desires, 
which  he  could  nether  forget  nor  ignore.  No  long 
ing  for  place  or  power  could  have  moved  him  now 
that  he  had  taken  his  stand,  and  anything  approach 
ing  the  nature  of  a  bribe  would  have  filled  him  with 
indignation.  But  these  other  things  bade  him  pause 
and  consider;  they  even  forced  him  to  doubt.  And 
with  Justin,  doubt  weakened  the  very  foundations 
of  the  structure  of  belief  which  at  first  he  had 
thought  so  stable. 


207 


CHAPTER  IX 

SANDERS   TELLS   HIS  STORY 

THE  evening  before  the  day  set  for  the  election 
of  United  States  senator  Lemuel  Fogg  re 
ceived  this  message  from  Sibyl  Dudley: 

"  Remember  our  agreement.  I  am  prepared  to  do 
what  I  promised.  I  shall  not  fail,  and  you  must 
not." 

At  a  late  hour  that  same  evening  a  messenger 
handed  Justin  a  note.  It  was  from  Sibyl.  She  was 
waiting  for  him  in  the  lobby,  and  had  a  carriage  in 
the  street. 

"  I  want  to  take  you  home  with  me,"  she  said,  in 
her  pleasantest  manner. 

"  Is  Lucy  there?  "  was  his  eager  question. 

"What  a  mind  reader  you  are!"  She  laughed 
playfully.  "  She  is  there,  and  if  you  are  good  I  will 
permit  you  to  have  a  look  at  her." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  carriage. 

"  You  may  see  her,  after  you  have  seen  some  one 
else  who  is  there,"  she  supplemented,  as  the  carriage 
moved  away  from  the  hotel. 

"Who  may  that  be?" 

Justin  did  not  desire  to  see  any  one  else. 

"  Wait !  "  she  said,  mysteriously. 

Justin  thought  of  Mary,  of  Ben,  and  even  of 

208 


Sanders  Tells  His  Story 

Doctor  Clayton  But  he  thought  most  of  Lucy. 
But  for  his  desire  to  see  Lucy  he  would  not  have 
gone  with  Mrs.  Dudley. 

When  he  arrived  and  was  shown  into  the  parlor 
he  beheld  William  Sanders.  He  could  not  believe 
that  he  had  been  summoned  to  meet  Sanders,  and 
glanced  about  the  room  to  ascertain  if  it  held  any 
one  else.  Sanders  was  alone.  Sibyl,  following  hard 
on  Justin's  heels,  came  in  while  he  was  greeting 
Sanders.  The  latter,  having  risen  to  take  Justin's 
hand,  moved  his  jaws  nervously.  At  home  he  would 
have  chewed  a  grass  blade  or  a  broom  straw.  His 
cunning  little  eyes  glanced  away  from  Justin's,  in 
stead  of  meeting  them  squarely. 

"  I  have  come  upon  the  strangest  piece  of  infor 
mation  !  "  said  Sibyl,  speaking  to  Justin  with  sim 
ulated  sympathy.  "  I  could  have  brought  you  the 
news,  or  told  you  about  it  as  we  drove  up,  but  I 
wanted  you  to  hear  it  from  Mr.  Sanders  himself. 
It  is  really  the  strangest  and  most  romantic  thing  I 
ever  listened  to.  I  simply  couldn't  believe  it  when 
Mr.  Sanders  told  it  to  me  first,  but  when  he  ex 
plained  fully  I  saw  that  it  must  be  true." 

"  And  it  come  about  in  a  mighty  curious  way ; 
that  is,  my  bein'  hyer  did.  'Twas  through  a  fortune 
teller,  I've  gone  to  a  good  many  of  'em  in  my  time, 
but  this  was  the  best  one  I  ever  found." 

Sanders  had  dropped  back  into  his  chair,  where 
he  sat  limply,  his  loose  shabby  garments  contrasting 
strangely  with  the  furnishings  of  the  room.  He 
clicked  his  teeth  together,  with  a  chewing  motion, 
when  he  was  not  speaking,  and  looked  at  Justin  with 

209 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

shifting  gaze.  He  was  not  easy  in  his  unfamiliar 
surroundings,  and  his  manner  showed  it.  Now  and 
then  he  glanced  at  Sibyl,  as  if  for  help,  as  he  pro 
ceeded  with  his  narrative. 

"  I  ain't  been  feelin'  jist  right  toward  Philip  Dav- 
ison,  as  you  know,  and  you  an'  me  had  some  trouble 
onc't ;  but  you  know  I  voted  f er  ye,  er  I  reckon  you 
know  it.  Anyway,  I  did.  Well,  I  come  up  to  Den 
ver  not  long  ago,  and  this  fortune  teller  I  spoke  of 
told  me  all  about  that  trouble  I  had  with  Davison, 
and  about  how  I  was  put  out  that  time  by  you,  and 
everything.  She  was  a  clairvoy'nt;  went  into  a 
trance  an'  seen  the  whole  thing,  and  a  lot  more  that 
I  can't  tell  you  now,  and  when  she  come  out  of  the 
trance  we  had  a  long  talk  and  she  give  me  some 
good  advice.  Charged  me  two  dollars,  but  it  was 
worth  ten,  and  I'd  'a'  paid  that  ruther  than  missed 
it.  And  when  Mrs.  Dudley  called  on  her " 

Sibyl  affected  a  very  clever  confusion. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  think  me  very  foolish,  Mr. 
Wingate,  and  we  women  are  foolish !  I  have  always 
refused  to  believe  in  fortune  tellers,  but  a  friend  of 
mine  who  had  visited  this  one  heard  such  strange 
things  that " 

"  That  she  went,  too,"  said  Sanders,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  gratification,  "  and  I  reckon  she'll  be 
believin'  in  fortune  tellin'  from  this  on." 

''  Well,  it  was  very  strange,"  Sibyl  admitted  with 
apparent  hesitation.  "  The  things  she  told  me 
caused  me  to  write  to  Mr.  Sanders,  and  now  he  is 
here  to  tell  you  what  he  knows." 

"  And  it's  a  sing'lar  story.     And  not  so  sing'lar 

210 


Sanders  Tells  His  Story 

either,  when  you  look  it  up  one  side  and  down 
t'other.  I'd  'a'  told  you  all  about  it  long  ago,  but 
fer  certain  things  that  took  place." 

Justin,  thinking  of  Lucy  and  disappointed  at  not 
seeing  her  immediately,  had  not  listened  with  much 
attention  at  first,  but  now  he  was  becoming  inter 
ested.  It  began  to  dawn  on  him  that  this  story  con 
cerned  him.  So  he  looked  at  Sanders  more  atten 
tively,  with  a  glance  now  and  then  at  Sibyl  Dudley. 
He  had  never  admired  Mrs.  Dudley  and  he  did  not 
admire  her  now;  recalling  the  things  he  knew  and 
the  things  he  guessed  about  her  and  Clayton,  he 
almost  felt  at  times  that  he  hated  her.  She  was  a 
handsome  woman,  but  even  his  ignorance  discounted 
the  assumed  value  of  rouge  and  fine  raiment.  He 
wondered  some  times  that  Clayton  could  ever  have 
cared  for  her.  He  was  sure  he  never  could  have 
done  so;  for,  compared  with  Sibyl,  Lucy  Davison 
was  as  a  modest  violet  to  a  flaunting  tiger  lily. 

"  I  set  out  to  ask  Doc  Clayton  some  questions 
about  you,  the  first  time  I  come  to  his  house.  You'll 
remember  that  time,  fer  me  and  Fogg  come  to 
gether.  But  Clayton  made  me  mad,  when  he  told 
me  that  lie  about  his  crooked  arm;  instid  of  an- 
swerin'  me,  he  made  fun  of  me,  and  I  went  away 
without  sayin'  anything." 

He  chewed  energetically  on  this  old  memory. 

"  I  didn't  come  back  fer  a  good  while  after  that, 
you'll  reck'lect;  I  got  land  at  Sumner,  an'  farmed 
there  a  spell.  Finally  I  sold  out,  an'  thought  I'd  take 
another  look  at  Paradise  Valley.  I'd  been  thinkin' 
about  it  all  that  time,  and  allowin'  I'd  go  back  when 

211 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

I  got  ready.  I  might  have  writ  to  you,  but  I  wasn't 
any  hand  to  write  in  them  days;  and  I  hadn't  got 
over  bein'  mad  at  Doc  Clayton." 

Sibyl,  turning  her  rings  on  her  shapely  fingers, 
was  anxious  that  he  should  reach  the  real  point,  but 
she  withheld  any  manifestation  of  impatience.  In 
the  school  of  experience  she  had  learned  to  wait. 
Justin  was  also  anxious,  and  he  had  not  learned  so 
well  how  to  conceal  it.  But  Sanders  went  on  un 
heeding,  stopping  now  and  then  to  masticate  a  fact 
before  proceeding  further. 

''  When  I  come  back,  intendin'  to  tell  you  all  I 
knowed,  which  I'd  begun  to  feel  was  due  ye,  I  got 
into  that  quarrel  with  Davison  about  the  fence  be 
fore  I  could ;  and  then  you  and  me  had  that  trouble. 
After  that  I  wouldn't  tell ;  and  I  wouldn't  tell  it  now 
but  fer  certain  things.  But  I  reckon  you'd  ought  to 
know.  I  dunno  whether  you'll  be  pleased  er  not 
when  you  do  know ;  but  I'm  calculatin'  that  Davison 
won't  be  pleased,  and  that  suits  me.  I  don't  make 
any  bones  of  sayin'  that  I  don't  like  Davison;  but 
Davison  is  your  paw !  " 

After  all  this  slow  preliminary,  the  revelation 
came  like  a  shot  from  a  rifle.  Not  realizing  this, 
Sanders  twisted  round  in  his  chair  and  began  to 
draw  from  his  hip  pocket  a  grimy  memorandum 
book  of  ancient  appearance.  Justin  was  too  aston 
ished  to  speak.  He  could  hardly  believe  that  he  had 
heard  aright,  and  he  was  prepared  to  dispute  the 
assertion,  for  it  seemed  incredible. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Mr.  Davison  is  my  father?  " 
he  cried. 

212 


Sanders  Tells  His  Story 

"  That's  jist  what  I  mean!  " 

Sanders  chewed  again,  and  putting  the  memoran 
dum  book  on  his  knee  opened  it  carefully.  Sibyl 
Dudley,  though  she  had  seen  the  book  before,  came 
forward  softly  from  her  chair  to  look.  Her  dark 
eyes  had  kindled.  Justin  stared  at  Sanders  and  the 
book.  The  shock  of  astonishment  was  still  on  him. 
He  did  not  know  what  to  think  or  say.  Sanders  ap 
peared  the  least  concerned  of  all. 

"  That's  jist  what  I  mean,  and  hyer's  the  little 
book  in  which  your  mother  writ  down  the  things  I 
know  about  it ;  you  can  see  it  yerself,  and  you  needn't 
believe  me.  You  was  brought  to  that  preacher,  Mr. 
Wingate,  by  me,  and  left  there.  I  took  you  and 
your  mother  into  my  wagon.  She  was  too  sick  to 
walk  even,  and  she  died  in  it ;  and  then,  not  knowin' 
what  to  do  with  you,  fer  you  was  jist  a  baby,  and  I 
was  only  a  kid  myself,  I  took  you  to  the  preacher. 
I  had  left  this  mem'randum  book  behind,  through 
a  mistake ;  but  I  give  him  the  Bible,  and  some  other 
things,  and  calc'lated  to  bring  this  to  him.  But  I 
didn't  right  away,  and  then  I  lost  track  of  him." 

Justin  was  trembling  now.  Though  still  unable 
to  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  this  revelation,  he  saw 
that  Sanders  was  recounting  things  he  knew.  There 
was  no  deception.  He  took  the  book  in  his  shaking 
hands,  when  Sanders  passed  it  to  him.  It  was 
grimy  and  disreputable  in  appearance,  but  if  San 
der's  story  were  true  it  had  been  hallowed  by  his 
mother's  touch. 

"  When  I  heard  the  name  of  Wingate  the  first 
time  that  I  come  to  the  valley  and  stopped  all  night 

213 


Justin  Wingatc,  Ranchman 

at  Clayton's  I  was  goin'  to  ask  him  all  about  you 
and  tell  him  what  I  knowed ;  but  he  made  me  mad, 
when  he  cut  me  off  that  way,  and  I  didn't.  'Tain't 
no  good  excuse  fer  not  tellin',  I  reckon,  an'  you  may 
think  I  hadn't  any  better  excuse  later  on,  but  that's 
why  I  didn't,  anyway.  Davison's  treatin'  me  the 
way  he  did  and  that  trouble  I  had  with  you  made  me 
keep  my  head  shet  till  now.  But  that  fortune  teller, 
when  I  seen  her  the  second  time,  said  fer  me  to  tell 
you  the  whole  thing,  and  so  I'm  doin'  it,  though 
mebbe  it  won't  please  you." 

Sander's  tone  was  apologetic. 

Justin  heard  in  amazed  bewilderment.  Philip 
Davison  his  father!  The  thing  was  incredible,  im 
possible.  But  he  opened  the  memorandum  book 
with  reverent  fingers,  as  Sanders  wandered  on  with 
his  explanations  and  excuses.  This  little  diary  at 
least  was  real.  The  first  glance  showed  him  the 
familiar  handwriting  which  he  knew  to  be  his 
mother's.  He  knew  every  curve  and  turn  of  the 
letters  penned  in  the  little  Bible,  which  at  that 
moment  was  in  his  trunk  at  the  hotel.  There  she 
had  written : 

"  Justin,  my  baby  boy,  is  now  six  months  old. 
May  God  bless  and  preserve  him  and  may  he  become 
a  good  man." 

Here  was  the  same  handwriting,  a  portion  of  it  in 
pencil  so  worn  in  places  as  to  be  almost  illegible. 
Hardly  hearing  what  Sanders  was  now  saying  Jus 
tin  began  to  read.  The  dates  were  far  apart.  Some 
of  the  things  set  down  had  been  written  before  Jus 
tin  was  born ;  others  must  have  been  penciled  shortly 

214 


Sanders  Tells  His  Story 

before  her  death.  Many  were  unrelated  and  told  of 
trivial  things.  Others  concerned  her  husband  and 
her  child.  The  details  were  more  complete  in  the 
later  pencilled  notes,  where  she  had  sought  to  make 
a  record  for  the  benefit  of  her  boy  in  the  event  of 
her  death,  which  she  seemed  to  foresee  or  fear. 
There  was  sadness  here  and  tears  and  the  story  of 
a  pitiful  tragedy;  and  here  also  in  full  were  the 
names  of  her  husband  and  her  son. 

She  was  the  wife  of  Philip  Davrson,  and  her  son 
Justin  was  born  a  year  after  her  marriage.  Davison 
was  then  a  small  farmer,  with  a  few  cattle,  living 
in  a  certain  valley,  which  she  named.  Davison,  as 
Justin  knew,  had  come  from  that  valley  to  the  valley 
of  Paradise.  Davison's  habit  of  occasional  intox 
ication  was  known  to  her  before  her  marriage,  as 
was  also  his  violent  outbursts  of  temper;  but  love 
had  told  her  the  old  lie,  that  she  could  save  him  from 
himself.  The  result  had  been  disaster.  In  a  fit  of 
drunken  rage  he  had  so  abused  her  that  she  had  fled 
from  him  in  the  night  with  her  child.  A  terrible 
storm  arose  as  she  wandered  through  the  foothills. 
But  she  had  stumbled  on,  crazed  by  fear  and  more 
dead  than  alive.  How  she  lived  through  the  week 
that  followed  she  declared  in  this  yellowed  writing 
that  she  did  not  know,  but  she  had  lived.  She  was 
journeying  toward  the  distant  railroad.  Now  and 
then  some  kind-hearted  man  gave  her  a  seat  in  his 
wagon,  and  now  and  then  she  found  shelter  and  food 
in  the  home  of  some  lonely  settler.  She  would  not 
return  to  Davison,  and  she  hoped  he  believed  she  had 
died  in  the  storm. 

215 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

The  brief  record  ended  in  a  blank,  which  had 
never  been  filled.  Sanders — his  name  was  not  men 
tioned  by  her — had  taken  her  into  his  prairie 
schooner — he  was  but  a  fatherless  boy  himself — and 
there  she  had  died,  worn  out  by  suffering  and  ex 
haustion.  But  her  baby  had  lived,  and  was  now 
known  as  Justin  Wingate. 

A  deep  sense  of  indignation  burned  in  Justin's 
breast  against  Philip  Davison,  as  he  read  the  pathetic 
story.  Against  Sanders  he  could  not  be  indignant, 
in  spite  of  the  wrong  the  man  had  done  him  by  with 
holding  this  information  through  all  the  years;  for 
Sanders  had  soothed  the  last  moments  of  his  mother, 
and  Sanders'  wagon  had  given  her  the  last  shelter 
she  had  known.  Justin's  fingers  shook,  and  in  his 
eyes  there  was  a  blinding  dash  of  tears. 

Sanders  was  still  drawling  on,  stopping  occasion 
ally  to  chew  at  an  unwilling  sentence.  It  was  an  old 
story  to  him,  and  so  had  lost  interest.  Sibyl  was 
standing  expectantly  by,  watching  Justin  with  solic 
itude  for  her  plans.  His  feelings  did  not  reach  her. 

"  So  I  am  Philip  Davison's  son !  " 

Justin  drew  a  long  breath.  His  voice  was  choked 
and  the  words  sounded  hoarse  and  strange. 

"  I  reckon  I  ought  to  'a'  told  you  a  good  while 
ago,"  Sanders  apologized ;  "  but  I  kinder  felt  that  it 
would  please  Davison,  and  after  that  trouble  you  an' 
me  had  I  didn't  want  to  tell  it ;  and,  so,  I  didn't." 

His  cunning  gray  eyes  shone  vindictively. 

"  I  don't  mind  sayin'  to  you  that  I  wouldn't  turn 
my  hand  over  to  save  Davison  from  the  pit,  if  he 
is  your  father;  he  didn't  do  right  by  me,  an'  you 

216 


Sanders  Tells  His  Story 

didn't  do  right  by  me.  It  won't  please  him  to  know 
that  you're  his  son,  fer  you're  fightin'  him  teeth  an' 
nail;  and  so  I'm  willin'  to  tell  it  now." 

Sanders'  ulterior  motive  was  exposed.  First  and 
last  hatred  of  Philip  Davison  and  of  Justin  had 
guided  him. 

"  It  must  be  a  pleasure  to  you  to  know  who  your 
father  really  is,"  said  Sibyl,  sweetly. 

Justin  regarded  her  steadily,  without  actually  see 
ing  her.  His  faculties  were  turned  inward. 

"  Yes,  that  is  true ;  I  am  glad  to  know  who  my 
father  is.  I  have  wondered  about  it  many  times. 
But  I  never  dreamed  it  could  be  Mr.  Davison.  It 
doesn't  seem  possible  now." 

Yet  in  his  hands  he  held  the  unimpeachable  record. 

Sanders  rose,  shuffling  and  awkward. 

"  I'll  turn  the  mem'randum  over  to  you ;  I  reckon 
it  belongs  by  rights  more  to  you  than  to  Davison, 
and  I  don't  keer  even  to  speak  to  him;  he's  never 
done  right  by  me." 

Justin  aroused  as  Sanders  moved  toward  the  door. 

"  Sanders,"  he  said,  "I'm  obliged  to  you  for  this. 
I  recognize  this  as  my  mother's  handwriting.  You 
ought  to  have  given  it  to  me  long  ago,  but  I'm  glad 
to  get  it  now.  And  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart  for  what  you  did  for  her.  I  shall  never 
forget  it." 

"Oh,  'twasn't  nothin'  at  all,"  Sanders  declared, 
glad  to  escape  the  denunciation  he  had  feared. 

"  And  I  want  you  to  tell  me  more  about  my 
mother,"  Justin  urged ;  "  what  she  said  when  she 
came  to  you,  and  how  she  looked,  and  everything." 

217 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

Sanders  sat  down  again,  chewing  the  quid  of  re 
flection,  and  gave  the  details  Justin  demanded,  for 
they  had  held  well  in  his  tenacious  memory.  Justin, 
listening  with  breathless  interest,  asked  many  ques 
tions,  while  Sibyl  sat  by  in  silent  attention  and  stud 
ied  his  strong  beardless  face.  He  thanked  Sanders 
again,  when  the  story  was  ended. 

Sanders  appeared  anxious  to  depart,  now  that  he 
had  performed  his  mission,  and  Sibyl  was  glad  to 
have  him  go.  Justin  remained  in  the  room.  He 
was  thinking  of  Lucy  and  desired  to  see  her. 

"  When  I  got  on  the  track  of  that  story  and  un 
derstood  what  it  meant,  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to 
bring  you  and  Mr.  Sanders  together  and  let  you 
hear  it  from  his  own  lips,"  said  Sibyl,  regarding 
Justin  attentively.  "  And  I  told  him  to  be  sure  to 
bring  that  diary,  for  I  knew  you  would  want  to  see 
it  and  would  prize  it  highly." 

It  was  in  Justin's  pocket,  but  he  took  it  out  again, 
still  handling  it  reverently. 

"  I  thank  you  for  that,  Mrs.  Dudley,"  he  said  with 
deep  sincerity.  "  The  whole  thing  is  so  new,  so  un 
expected,  that  I  am  not  yet  able  to  adjust  myself 
to  it;  but  it  was  a  kindness  on  your  part,  and  this 
book  I  shall  hold  beyond  price." 

He  studied  again  the  yellowed  writing. 

"  It  is  beyond  price,  for  my  mother  wrote  it ! " 

He  put  the  book  away  and  looked  at  Sibyl. 

"  The  way  I  chanced  to  hear  of  the  story  was 
very  queer,"  Sibyl  explained.  "  And  the  way  it  has 
turned  out  justifies  the  superstitious  spasm  which 
took  me  to  that  fortune  teller.  Sanders  was  coming 

218 


Sanders  Tells  His  Story 

out  of  her  room  as  I  went  in.  I  had  seen  him  in 
Paradise  Valley,  and  so  recognized  him,  though  he 
did  not  notice  me.  When  I  passed  in  I  spoke  to 
the  woman  about  him,  telling  her  that  I  knew  him ; 
and  then  she  gave  me  the  story  she  had  drawn  from 
him,  or  which  in  a  confidential  moment  he  had  told 
her.  I  saw  the  value  of  it  to  you,  if  true.  I  had 
an  interview  with  him  for  the  purpose  of  verifying 
it;  and  then  I  arranged  this  meeting,  for  I  thought 
you  ought  to  receive  it  straight  from  him." 

Justin  thanked  her  again. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  Lucy  now,"  he  said, 
"  if  you  have  no  objection." 

Sibyl  seemed  embarrassed,  as  she  answered : 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say  that  the  servants  in 
form  me  that  she  has  gone  out  with  Mary  to  spend 
the  night  with  a  friend  in  another  part  of  the  city. 
I  thought  she  would  be  here,  and  I  was  sure  you 
would  want  to  have  a  talk  with  her  after  that." 

Justin  was  disappointed. 

"  I  might  as  well  be  going  then.  It  is  late ;  too 
late  I  suppose  to  call  on  her  at  the  place  where  she  is 
stopping.  I  will  see  her  to-morrow  evening." 

He  got  out  of  his  chair  unsteadily.  His  emotions 
had  been  touched  so  strongly  that  he  felt  exhausted, 
though  he  had  not  realized  it  until  he  arose.  Then 
he  took  his  hat  and  went  out,  after  again  thanking 
Sibyl  for  her  kindness. 


219 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  THE  CRUCIBLE 

IN  his  room  at  the  hotel,  Justin  re-read  that  little 
memorandum  book  many  times  that  night,  and 
tried  to  accommodate  his  mind  to  its  new  en 
vironment.  It  was  a  difficult  task.  But  at  last 
the  harshness  he  had  felt  toward  Philip  Davison 
went  out  of  his  soul.  By  degrees  the  submerged 
longing  for  a  father's  love  began  to  make  itself  felt. 
Philip  Davison  was  his  father;  he  did  not  doubt  it 
now,  though  it  seemed  so  strange.  He  had  known 
from  Ben  and  Lucy  that  Philip  Davison  had  married 
twice.  Ben  was  the  child  of  the  first  marriage,  and 
he  the  child  of  the  second;  and  Ben  was  his  half 
brother ! 

He  saw  resemblances  now  that  he  had  never 
thought  of.  Looking  at  his  reflection  in  the  mirror, 
he  beheld  blue  eyes  like  those  of  Philip  Davison. 
The  forehead,  the  nose,  the  length  of  body  and  limb, 
were  all,  when  thus  studied,  reminders  of  Philip 
Davison.  Davison  was  florid  of  face,  and  Justin 
would  probably  be  florid  of  face  when  he  grew  older, 
for  his  complexion  was  now  of  that  type.  Davison's 
face  was  seamed  with  the  marks  of  petulance  and 
many  outbursts  of  bad  temper.  Justin  did  not  see 
any  of  those  marks  in  his  own  smooth  youthful 

220 


In  the  Crucible 

countenance,  but  he  knew  that  if  he  gave  way  to 
the  fits  of  rage  that  swept  over  him  at  times  with 
almost  uncontrollable  force,  similar  marks  might 
set  there  the  seal  of  their  disapproval. 

He  was  sure,  however,  that  in  many  ways  he  was 
not  like  Philip  Davison,  even  though  he  had  as  a 
boy  so  admired  Davison ;  and  he  was  glad  to  believe 
that  these  better  traits  he  inherited  from  his  mother. 
Though  he  did  not  know  it,  from  his  mother  he  had 
inherited  the  iron  will  which  was  manifesting  itself. 
It  had  manifested  itself  in  her  when  she  refused  to 
turn  back  to  the  home  from  which  she  had  fled,  but 
traveled  on,  weak  and  faint,  until  death  claimed  her. 
Her  body  had  broken,  but  her  will  had  stood  firm 
to  the  last ;  and  it  had  shown  itself  up  to  the  end  in 
her  resolute  manner  of  putting  down  in  that  little 
book  her  story  for  the  benefit  of  the  child  she  hoped 
would  live  after  she  had  failed  and  passed  on.  To 
Ben,  the  child  of  the  first  marriage,  had  descended 
Philip  Davison' s  weaknesses  and  from  his  mother 
had  come  the  slight  stature  and  the  pale  face.  Ex 
cept  in  his  mental  characteristics  Ben  resembled  his 
father  less  than  Justin  did. 

Justin  did  not  sleep  that  night.  He  knew  that 
Philip  Davison  was  in  town,  and  he  began  to  long  to 
see  him.  This  desire  rose  by  and  by  as  a  swelling 
tide,  bearing  with  it  the  years'  suppressed  longing 
for  a  father's  love.  As  a  child  Justin  had  felt  that 
inexpressible  longing.  It  had  moved  within  him 
when  Clayton  came  first  to  the  preacher's  house  and 
he  had  pressed  closely  against  Clayton's  unrespon 
sive  knees  while  exhibiting  the  little  Bible  in  which 

221 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

his  mother  had  written.  Clayton  had  afterward 
satisfied  that  longing  in  a  measure;  but  only  the 
knowledge  that  the  touch  of  the  hand  laid  on  him 
was  really  the  touch  of  the  hand  of  his  own  father 
could  ever  satisfy  it  fully. 

So,  through  the  years,  that  desire  had  yearned. 
Justin  felt  it  again  now,  deeper  than  hunger,  more 
anguishing  than  thirst.  And  it  was  not  lessened  by 
the  feeling  that  Philip  Davison  might  not  wish  to 
satisfy  it,  and  perhaps  could  not.  For  circumstances 
stood  now  like  a  wall  between  this  father  and  son; 
circumstances  which  were  not  the  choice  of  either, 
any  more  than  were  the  intuitions  and  the  motives, 
selfish  or  otherwise,  which  led  them.  They  had  trav 
eled  by  different  paths,  and  they  stood  apart.  Never 
theless,  the  yearning  was  there,  deep,  pathetic,  and 
it  seemed  that  it  would  never  be  appeased.  Justin 
forgot  that  white  indignation  that  at  first  had  burned 
with  furnace  heat  against  Philip  Davison.  Love 
took  its  place.  Philip  Davison  was  his  father! 

As  this  desire  gained  in  strength  Justin  made  an 
effort  to  see  his  father.  He  decided  that  he  would 
put  that  little  diary  into  his  father's  hands  and  be 
guided  by  the  result.  He  surely  could  trust  the 
better  impulses  of  his  own  father!  But  he  failed 
to  find  Davison.  Fogg  was  absent,  probably  in  at 
tendance  upon  some  all-night  caucus,  and  Fogg  was 
the  only  man  likely  to  know  where  Davison  could  be 
found. 

In  the  morning  Justin  discovered  that  Davison 
was  temporarily  absent,  possibly  out  of  town,  but 
was  expected  at  any  moment.  Fogg  told  him  this, 

222 


In  the  Crucible 

and  observed  that  Justin  showed  a  flushed,  anxious 
face  and  had  passed  a  sleepless  night.  Thereupon, 
remembering  the  promise  of  Sibyl  Dudley,  Fogg's 
courage  rose.  He  dared  not  question  Justin,  and 
Justin  was  non-committal.  This  new  knowledge 
Justin  wished  to  share  first  of  all  with  his  father. 

In  his  room  a  brief  note  was  brought  to  him. 
Lucy  Davison  was  in  the  ladies'  parlor,  and  he  went 
down  to  see  her.  She  was  seated  by  one  of  the 
windows  that  overlooked  the  noisy  street.  When 
she  arose  to  meet  him  he  saw  that  Sibyl  had  told 
her  everything.  There  was  sympathy  and  glad  hap 
piness,  mingled  with  anxiety,  in  her  manner.  Her 
emotions  tinted  her  cheeks  and  shadowed  her  brown 
eyes.  Being  a  man,  Justin  did  not  note  how  she  was 
dressed,  except  that  it  was  very  becomingly.  Being 
a  woman,  she  not  only  knew  that  she  was  entirely 
presentable  herself,  but  saw  every  detail  of  his 
garb,  from  his  well-polished  shoes  to  the  set  of  his 
collar.  And  she  knew  that  he  was  clean  and  hand 
some.  He  had  never  questioned  that  she  was  the 
most  beautiful  woman,  as  to  him  she  had  been  the 
most  beautiful  girl,  in  the  world.  Mary  Jasper's 
rose-leaf  complexion  and  midnight  hair  were  juve 
nile  and  inane  beside  the  glory  of  Lucy  Davison's 
maturing  womanhood. 

"  I  am  so  glad,  Justin,  for  you ! "  she  said,  and 
gave  him  her  hands  without  reserve. 

"  And  I  am  glad !  "  His  voice  choked,  as  he  led 
her  back  to  the  window,  where  the  rumble  of  the 
street  noises  stilled  other  sounds.  "  I  am  glad ; 

223 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

though  at  first  I  couldn't  believe  it,  for  it  seemed 
so  improbable.  But  I'm  sure  now  it  is  true." 

She  looked  at  him  with  fond  admiration;  at  the 
straight  firm  features,  at  the  handsome  head  with 
its  crown  of  dark  hair,  at  the  tall  muscular  form,  and 
into  the  clear  blue  eyes.  And  the  blue  eyes  looked 
into  the  brown  with  love  in  their  glance. 

"  And  you're  almost  related  to  me,"  she  said,  sym 
pathetically,  "  for  you're  Ben's  half-brother !  " 

He  smiled  at  her,  and  tried  to  assume  a  cheerful, 
even  a  jovial  tone. 

"  I  had  thought  of  that,  and  of  what  a  good  thing 
it  is  that  we're  not  wholly  related !  " 

"  Let  me  see !    What  is  our  relationship  now  ?  " 

"  You  are  my  sweetheart  now,  and  will  be  my 
wife  some  day !  " 

She  flushed  attractively. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  Let  me  see — Ben's  mother 
and  my  mother  were  sisters.  So  Ben  and  I  are 
cousins." 

"  And  I  am  Ben's  half-brother,  so  you  and  I  are 
half-cousins." 

He  tried  to  speak  in  playful  jest. 

"  No,  we're  not  related  at  all !  " 

"  Then  we  shall  have  to  become  related,  at  an 
early  day." 

"  Uncle  Philip  is  my  uncle  by  marriage,  but  not 
my  blood  uncle.  I  am  a  cousin  to  Ben  through  my 
mother  and  his  mother,  who  were  sisters.  So  if  I 
have  no  blood  relationship  with  Uncle  Philip,  your 
father,  I  have  none  with  you,  for  your  mother  was 
not  related  to  me  in  any  way." 

224 


In  the  Crucible 

"  And  I  say  again  I  am  glad  of  it."  He  retained 
his  jesting  tone,  though  his  mood  was  serious.  "  But 
if  you  marry  me  you  are  going  to  marry  bad  luck, 
for  it  seems  that  my  name  is  Davison.  You  know 
the  rhyme: 

"  '  To  change  the  name  and  not  the  letter, 
Is  to  change  for  worse  and  not  for  better/  ' 

"  You  insist  on  joking  about  it.  You  know  that 
Davison  was  not  my  father's  name,  but  only  the 
name  I  took  when  Uncle  Philip  adopted  me." 

"  And  that  will  break  the  bad  luck  spell !  " 

"  Don't  you  think  it  will?  " 

"  I  think  it  will ;  I  know  it  will !  "  he  declared. 

"  I  came  to  see  you  about  something,  as  well  as 
to  congratulate  you  and  sympathize  with  you." 

"  I  tried  to  see  you  last  night  and  failed." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  heard  about  it  this  morning.  I 
wish  I  could  have  seen  you  last  night,  but  it  is  as 
well  this  morning.  What  I  want  to  ask  you  is  if  you 
intend  to  vote  against  the  cattlemen  to-day  ?  " 

The  cheery  light  died  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  thought  it  over,  and  have  talked  with 
Mrs.  Dudley,  and  it  seems  to  me  it  is  your  duty  to 
consider  the  matter  very  carefully  now  that  you 
know  your  relationship  to  Uncle  Philip." 

A  conservative  by  nature,  and  unconsciously  in 
fluenced  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  Davison  home, 
Lucy  Davison  had  begun  to  fear  that  Justin  was  in 
the  wrong.  From  that  there  was  but  a  step  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  her  duty  to  tell  him  so.  She 

225 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

did  not  dream  that  she  was  but  a  pawn  in  the  game 
which  was  being  played  by  Sibyl  Dudley. 

Justin  looked  into  the  earnest  brown  eyes,  and  his 
voice  was  grave. 

"If  any  one  in  the  world  could  make  me  vote 
against  my  opinion  it  would  be  you.  I'm  not  going 
to  argue  with  you,  but  let  me  say  just  this.  If  I  vote 
with  the  cattlemen,  or  refuse  to  vote  at  all,  it  will 
place  me  in  the  position  of  sustaining  them  in  a  re 
bellious  defiance  of  the  national  government,  in  ad 
dition  to  upholding  the  unsheltered  range,  a  question 
on  which  perhaps  we  could  not  agree.  But  the  fences 
which  they  maintain  on  government  lands  are  so 
clearly  illegal  that  the  government  has  in  some  in 
stances  ordered  them  down.  The  cattlemen  hope  by 
sending  a  senator  to  Washington  to  have  that  order 
rescinded  and  the  entire  matter  dropped.  They  have 
fenced  untaken  public  lands,  and  lands  which  settlers 
occupy,  or  wish  to  occupy,  and  they  want  to  con 
tinue  this  without  interruption  from  Washington." 

"  You  said  you  didn't  intend  to  argue !  " 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  argue.  I'm  simply  going  to 
ask  if  you  think  I  would  be  justified  in  using  my 
vote,  or  withholding  it,  to  continue  a  practice  that  is 
in  defiance  of  the  orders  of  the  land  department,  even 
to  please  my  own  father  ?  " 

"  That  order  is  not,  as  I  understand,  a  legal  enact 
ment,  and  it  might  be  changed/'  she  urged. 

"  It  will  be  changed,  no  doubt,  if  the  cattlemen 
win ;  but  should  it  be  changed,  or  withdrawn  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  settlers  are  doing  well 

226 


In  the  Crucible 

enough,  and  those  fences  aren't  injuring  anybody." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  thinking. 

"  I  want  to  please  your  Uncle  Philip — my  father 
— and  I  want  to  please  you.  I'll  admit  that  I  have 
myself  had  some  doubts  on  this  question  lately,  ser 
ious  doubts.  Yet  I  cannot  make  myself  think  that 
I  have  not  been  in  the  right  from  the  first.  If  I 
thought  I  was  wrong  I  would  change  in  a  minute 
without  regard  to  the  consequences." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  right  for  me  to  urge  you  to  vote 
against  your  conscience,"  she  admitted,  touched  by 
his  fine  sense  of  honor.  "  Only,  as  I've  tried  to 
think  it  over  and  get  at  the  right  of  it,  it  has  seemed 
to  me  that  there  are,  must  be,  two  sides  to  the  ques 
tion.  Every  question  has  two  sides,  you  know." 

"Yes;  that  is  so." 

She  went  on,  not  sure  of  her  ground,  nor  alto 
gether  certain  of  herself;  yet  feeling  that  this  was 
a  crucial  moment  and  that  every  argument  ought  to 
be  duly  weighed  and  considered. 

"  You  won't  feel  hurt  if  I  remind  you  that  you  are 
inexperienced  ?  New  light  may  come  to  you,  so  that 
the  opinions  you  now  hold  you  may  not  hold  a  year 
from  now." 

"  That  is  true ;  but  so  long  as  I  do  hold  them  I 
must  be  honest  about  it." 

"  It  is  the  opinion  of  Uncle  Philip  that  this  an 
noyance  of  the  settlers  cannot  last.  He  says  there 
are  only  a  few  places  where  they  can  farm  success 
fully.  But  in  the  meantime,  while  they  are  trying 
every  place,  they  are  making  a  vast  amount  of 
trouble,  by  thus  spreading  all  over  the  country.  You 

227 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

know,  yourself,  that  some  of  them  are  taking  land 
where  water  can  never  be  got  to  it.  The  immediate 
result  will  be,  Uncle  Philip  says,  that  the  ranchmen 
will  be  almost  ruined,  by  being  forced  to  surrender 
land  to  them  that  can  never  be  fit  for  anything  but 
a  cattle  range.  The  settlers  will  find  out  by  and  by 
that  the  land  cannot  be  farmed;  but  while  they  are 
finding  it  out,  and  bringing  loss  to  themselves,  they 
will  bring  the  downfall  of  the  cattlemen." 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  these  things/'  he  said. 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly.    He  was  troubled. 

"  Lucy,  I  wish  I  only  knew  what  I  ought  to  do  in 
this  crisis!  I  must  face  it  and  do  something.  I 
have  looked  for  your  Uncle  Philip,  and  intend  to 
look  for  him  again,  and  shall  try  to  have  a  talk  with 
him.  He  is  my  father,  and  when  he  knows  that  he 
is,  and  I  ask  him  to  advise  me  as  a  father  would  ad 
vise  a  son — . — ."  He  stopped,  in  hesitation.  "  Any 
way,  whatever  I  do — whatever  I  do — remember  that 
I  love  you !  " 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  he  began  another  search 
for  his  father,  driven  by  the  feeling  that  he  must 
explain  fully  to  Davison  his  views  and  motives,  as 
well  as  hear  Davison's  arguments  and  opinions,  and 
so  perhaps  be  able  to  stand  erect  in  Philip  Davison's 
estimation,  as  well  as  in  his  own.  This  was  an 
anxious,  even  a  wild  desire,  and  it  pressed  him  hard. 

Fogg,  scenting  a  reconciliation,  sent  a  messenger 
in  hurried  search  of  Davison.  At  the  hotel,  and  at 
the  state  house,  the  lobbies  were  overflowing.  Men 
began  to  come  to  Justin  not  singly  but  in  platoons. 
Somehow  the  word  had  gone  round  that  he  was 

228 


In  the  Crucible 

weakening*.  But  he  was  not  ready  to  talk.  To 
friends  and  enemies  alike  he  was  non-committal.  He 
wanted  to  see  his  father;  he  wanted  to  place  in  his 
hands  that  memorandum  book,  and  get  an  acknowl 
edgment  of  their  relationship.  The  interminable 
buzz  of  the  anxious  and  excited  politicians  struck 
against  deaf  ears. 

Philip  Davison  was  out  of  town. 

Fogg,  with  telegraph  and  telephone,  was  wildly 
trying  to  reach  him.  Sibyl  Dudley  had  come  to  the 
state  house  in  shivering  expectancy.  The  jarring 
hum  of  the  political  machine  rose  ever  higher  and 
higher,  yet  Justin  gave  no  indication  of  a  changed 
or  changing  purpose. 

The  ordeal  through  which  he  had  passed  since 
coming  to  Denver  had  taught  him  how  to  keep  silent 
amid  the  maddest  tumult.  At  first  he  had  sought  to 
justify  whatever  course  he  intended  to  pursue,  only 
to  find  his  statements  snapped  up,  distorted,  spread 
abroad  with  amendments  he  had  never  thought  of, 
and  so  mutilated  that  often  even  he  could  not  recog 
nize  the  mangled  fragments.  So,  having  learned  his 
lesson  well,  he  kept  still.  Other  men  could  do  the 
talking.  To  the  men  who  besieged  him  he  had 
"  nothing  to  say."  Until  he  saw  Philip  Davison  and 
placed  that  diary  in  his  hands  he  felt  that  he  could 
have  nothing  to  say.  Even  then  he  might  act  with 
out  saying  anything.  From  time  to  time  he  ob 
served  Fogg  watching  him  covertly. 

While  he  waited,  senate  and  house  convened  and 
began  to  vote  for  the  senatorial  candidates.  Fogg 
went  into  the  senate  chamber,  after  speaking  to  a 

229 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

member  of  the  lower  house.  Justin,  whose  name 
was  far  down  on  the  rolls,  remained  in  the  lobby 
until  a  sergeant-at-arms  came  summoning  members 
of  the  house  to  vote.  Then  he  entered.  When  he 
dropped  heavily  into  his  seat  he  was  greeted  by  sup 
pressed  cheering  and  a  buzz  of  anxious  and  excited 
comment.  These  things  did  not  move  him;  what 
moved  him  was  a  mental  view  of  his  father's  face, 
and  that  inner  tide  of  feeling  demanding  the  satis 
faction  of  a  father's  love. 

Suddenly  he  recalled  Fogg's  covert  and  anxious 
looks,  and  like  a  flash  came  the  question:  Could 
this  whole  thing  be  but  a  plot  to  bewilder  him  and 
cause  him  to  vote  with  the  ranchmen,  or  not  at  all  ? 
He  knew  that  Lucy  would  not  deceive  him,  but  she 
might  herself  be  deceived.  He  could  not  doubt  that 
record  in  the  handwriting  of  his  mother,  but  after  all 
the  reference  might  be  to  another  Philip  Davison. 
His  nerves  tingled  and  his  brain  reeled  under  the 
influence  of  this  startling  suggestion. 

While  thus  bewildered,  his  name  was  called.  He 
half  rose,  staggering  to  his  feet,  hardly  knowing 
what  his  physical  actions  were.  But  his  mind  began 
to  clear  Clayton's  face,  the  dream  of  Peter  Win- 
gate,  and  that  picture  of  the  unsheltered  range,  rose 
before  him;  again  he  saw  the  illegal  fences;  again 
starving  cattle  looked  at  him  with  hungry  eyes,  and 
their  piteous  moans  were  borne  to  him  on  the  breath 
of  the  freezing  wind.  Once  more  he  was  the  thrall 
of  the  past.  His  courage  stiffened,  the  firm  will  was 
firm  again.  He  felt  that  there  was  but  one  rock  on 
which  he  could  set  his  trembling  feet,  and  that  was 

230 


In  the  Crucible 

the  rock  of  righteousness.  If  in  this  crucial  moment 
he  failed  to  stand  for  that  which  in  his  innermost 
soul  he  knew  to  be  right,  the  self-respect  which  had 
nurtured  his  sturdy  young  manhood  would  be  gone. 
His  face  whitened  and  his  hand  shook ;  but  his  voice 
was  firm,  when  he  announced  his  vote.  It  rang  with 
clear  decision  through  the  silence  that  had  fallen  on 
the  house. 

Sibyl  Dudley  had  lost. 


231 


CHAPTER  XI 

FATHER  AND  SON 

PHILIP  Davison  saw  Lucy  before  she  returned 
to  Paradise  Valley  and  learned  from  her  the 
strange  story  which  had  been  told  by  William 
Sanders.  From  Fogg  and  others  he  had  already 
heard  how  Justin  had  voted.  And  the  discovery  that 
even  after  Justin  had  been  informed  of  this  relation 
ship  he  had  voted  against  the  cattlemen  hardened 
his  heart.  He  refused  to  see  Justin  now,  and  went 
back  to  Paradise  Valley  angry  and  uncomfortable. 
There  he  sought  out  Sanders  and  obtained  the  story 
direct  from  him. 

After  his  talk  with  Sanders,  a  talk  in  which  San 
ders  revealed  to  the  full  the  bitterness  and  vindic- 
tiveness  of  his  narrow  mind,  Philip  Davison  shut 
himself  up  in  his  room  at  the  ranch  house,  where 
he  would  not  see  any  one,  and  through  the  greater 
part  of  the  night  sat  reviewing  the  past,  while  he 
smoked  many  cigars.  The  drinking  habit  which  had 
been  the  curse  of  his  earlier  years  he  had  conquered. 
Since  the  night  in  which  his  wife  had  fled  never  to 
return,  he  had  not  set  liquor  to  his  lips;  and  Ben's 
growing  habits  of  intoxication  threw  him  contin 
ually  into  a  rage.  Only  that  morning,  encountering 
Clem  Arkwright  and  Ben  together  in  the  town  and 

232 


Father  and  Son 

seeing  that  both  had  been  drinking,  he  had  cursed 
Arkwright  to  his  face,  and  with  threats  and  warn 
ings  had  ordered  Ben  home.  That  Ben  had  not 
obeyed  did  not  make  Philip  Davison's  cup  the 
sweeter  that  night. 

The  prosaic  accuracy  of  the  details  of  the  story 
told  by  Sanders,  with  what  he  knew  himself,  con 
vinced  Davison  of  its  truth,  in  spite  of  his  previous 
belief  that  the  cloud-burst  which  came  shortly  after 
his  wife  had  fled  from  home  had  engulfed  and  slain 
both  her  and  her  child.  His  belief  of  her  death  had 
been  based  on  the  fact  that  nearly  a  year  after  her 
disappearance  the  unidentified  bodies  of  a  woman 
and  child  had  been  found  in  the  foothills ;  and  in  a 
little,  remote  cemetery,  where  these  bodies  rested, 
a  simple  slab  held  the  names  of  Esther  and  Justin 
Davison. 

Davison  recalled  now  that  it  was  the  name,  more 
than  anything  else,  that  had  induced  him  to  give 
Justin  employment  on  the  ranch.  The  name  of  Jus 
tin  and  the  memories  it  evoked  had  touched  some 
hidden  tendril  of  his  heart,  and  had  made  him  kind 
to  Justin  at  times  when  but  for  that  he  might  have 
been  otherwise.  As  often  as  he  had  felt  inclined  to 
turn  upon  Justin  in  hot  anger  that  name  had  soft 
ened  his  wrath.  He  had  never  a  thought  that  Justin 
was  his  son;  yet  the  name  had  won  for  Justin  a 
warmer  place  in  his  regard  than  Justin  could  have 
won  by  his  own  merits. 

As  Davison  sat  thus  in  the  shadowed  memories  of 
the  past,  there  came  to  him  a  stirring  of  natural  af 
fection.  But,  whenever  he  turned  to  what  he  con- 

233 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

sidered  Justin's  dastardly  betrayal  of  the  ranch  in 
terests,  this  vanished.  To  combat  it  there  was,  too, 
a  long-smoldering  feeling  against  the  woman  who 
had  deserted  him,  and  who  by  so  doing  had  revealed 
to  the  world  his  drunken  rage  and  cruelty.  That 
desertion  he  had  never  been  quite  able  to  forgive. 
For  years  he  had  tried  not  to  think  of  her ;  but  that 
night  her  memory  rose  strong  and  buoyant.  He 
knew  he  had  wronged  her  deeply,  and  had  outraged 
her  feelings  cruelly.  Perhaps  that  was  at  bottom 
why  this  long-smoldering  recollection  of  her  aroused 
his  smothered  anger. 

By  degrees,  as  he  thought  over  the  past,  Davison 
began  to  resent  what  seemed  an  injury  done  him. 
It  was  as  if  fate  had  preserved  this  boy  through  all 
the  years  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  the  mother.  His 
own  son  had  risen  to  oppose  him,  to  thwart  his  de 
sires,  to  smite  him  with  mailed  fist.  And  he  had 
helped  unwittingly  to  fit  fighting  armor  to  the  stal 
wart  shoulders  of  this  son;  for  it  was  through  his 
position  on  the  ranch,  as  the  companion  and  friend 
of  the  cowboys,  that  Justin  had  arrived  at  that  con 
dition  of  comradeship  with  them  which  had  really 
given  him  his  present  place.  Davison  felt  that  Ben 
should  have  held  that  position — Ben,  who  had  the 
ranch  interests  at  heart,  and  would  have  voted  right. 
Ben  was  disobedient,  wild,  intractable,  but  Ben 
would  have  voted  right!  Davison  loved  Ben. 
Justin  seemed  still  an  outsider,  an  intruder.  And 
the  feeble  stir  of  natural  affection  passed  away. 

Justin  remained  in  Denver  through  the  remainder 
of  the  legislative  session  and  cast  his  vote  with  the 

234 


Father  and  Son 

agriculturists  on  a  number  of  questions.  He 
wrote  to  Lucy  frequently,  but  she  did  not  re-visit 
Denver,  so  he  did  not  see  her  again  until  his  return 
to  Paradise  Valley.  In  her  letters  she  acquainted 
him  fully  with  the  fact  that  Philip  Davison  did  not 
feel  kindly  toward  him.  Justin  wrote  a  letter  also  to 
Davison,  but  it  was  not  answered.  He  did  not  again 
see  Sibyl  Dudley,  nor  Mary  Jasper.  And  Fogg  ap 
parently  had  been  permanently  alienated. 

When  Justin  came  home,  and  it  was  known  at 
the  ranch  that  he  was  at  Clayton's,  Philip  Davison 
sent  for  him.  Justin  obeyed  the  summons  with  anx 
ious  hesitation,  and  took  the  little  memorandum 
book  with  him,  and  also  his  mother's  Bible.  He 
had  not  sent  the  diary  to  Davison  with  the  letter  as 
proof  of  their  relationship,  and  he  was  resolved  not 
to  part  with  it  now.  Davison  might  examine  it  as 
much  as  he  liked,  but  he  should  not  keep  it,  nor 
should  he  destroy  it. 

Davison  received  Justin  in  the  upper  room  where 
he  had  sat  that  night  thinking  of  the  past.  His 
bearded  face  was  flushed  and  his  manner  was  con 
strained.  Justin  had  a  sense  of  confusion,  as  he 
stood  face  to  face  with  this  man  whom  he  now  knew 
to  be  his  father.  It  seemed  an  unnatural  situation. 
Yet  in  his  heart  was  still  that  longing  for  a  father's 
recognition  and  love.  He  had  not  put  off  the  cloth 
ing  he  had  worn  while  in  the  city ;  he  might  not  do 
so  at  all,  as  he  did  not  intend  to  become  again  a  cow 
boy  or  work  on  a  ranch.  That  phase  of  his  life  was 
past.  Philip  Davison  never  wore  cowboy  clothing, 
except  when  engaged  in  actual  work  on  the  range  or 

235 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

at  the  branding  pens.  Yet  he  was  not  dressed  at  his 
best,  as  he  now  received  his  son ;  and  having  come  in 
from  a  long  ride,  his  black  coat  was  still  covered 
with  dust. 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  father  and  of  the  son  met. 
Justin  was  as  tall,  and  his  features  much  resembled 
those  of  his  father.  But  while  one  face  was  beard 
less,  and  young  and  strong,  the  other  was  bearded 
and  prematurely  aged.  In  Davison's  reddish  beard, 
which  was  worn  full  and  long,  were  many  strands 
of  white,  and  whitening  locks  showed  in  his  thick 
dark  hair.  The  blue  eyes  were  heavy,  and  the  fleshy 
pads  beneath  them  seemed  to  have  increased  in  full 
ness  and  size.  Justin  even  fancied  there  were  new 
lines  in  the  seamed  and  florid  face.  Justin's  face  was 
flushed  and  his  swelling  heart  ached,  as  he  stood 
before  his  father. 

Davison  waved  him  to  a  chair  without  extending 
his  hand  in  greeting,  and  Justin  sat  down.  Then 
Davison  took  a  seat  and  looked  at  him  across  the 
intervening  distance  as  if  he  would  read  there  the 
truth  or  falsity  of  Sanders'  story.  Apparently  he 
was  satisfied. 

"  I  have  had  a  talk  with  Sanders/'  he  began,  speak 
ing  slowly  and  with  an  effort.  "  You  have  a  mem 
orandum  book  which  I  should  like  to  see." 

Justin  produced  it  with  fumbling  fingers.  Philip 
Davison  took  it  without  apparent  emotion,  and  open 
ing  it  looked  it  through.  Having  done  so  he  closed 
it  and  passed  it  back.  In  the  same  way  he  examined 
the  Bible  which  Justin  gave  him. 

"  You  are  my  son ;  I  haven't  seen  any  of  your 

236 


Father  and  Son 

mother's  handwriting  for  a  long  time,  but  I  recog 
nize  it  readily.  The  story  told  in  that  diary  has  been 
naturally  colored  by  her  feelings.  I  hope  I  am  not 
quite  as  black  as  she  has  painted  me.  But  all  that  is 
past,  and  it  is  not  my  intention  to  talk  about  it  now. 
The  point  is,  that  you  are  my  son.  Since  hearing 
about  this  matter  I  have  been  thinking  over  our  re 
lationship  and  asking  myself  what  I  ought  to  do. 
As  my  son,  when  I  die  I  shall  see  that  you  are  not 
unprovided  for ;  but  the  bulk  of  my  property  will  go 
to  Ben,  with  something  for  Lucy.  I  wasn't  always 
as  prosperous  as  I  am  now;  I've  had  to  fight  for 
what  I've  got,  and  I  still  have  to  fight  to  keep  it.  I 
have  done  and  am  doing  this  for  Ben.  Your  sym 
pathies  have  been  from  the  first  with  those  who  are 
my  enemies,  and  in  the  legislature  you  voted  with 
them  from  beginning  to  end.  You  were  elected 
chiefly  by  ranch  votes,  and  you  betrayed  all  of  the 
ranch  interests.  The  thing  is  done  now,  and  can't 
be  undone ;  yet,  after  all  my  struggles,  it  is  not  pleas 
ant  to  know  that  the  hand  of  my  own  son  did  this 
thing." 

He  settled  heavily  back  in  his  chair. 

"  So  the  most  of  what  I  have  will  go  to  Ben. 
He  is  wild,  but  he  will  settle  down;  I  was  wild  in 
my  youth.  You  are  like  your  mother.  She  was  an 
obstinate  angel  with  an  uncomfortable  conscience, 
and  for  some  men  such  a  woman  is  an  unpleasant 
thing  to  live  with." 

Justin  felt  a  swelling  of  indignation  at  this  men 
tion  of  his  mother. 

:(  You  have  all  of  her  obstinacy  and  general  wrong- 

237 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

headedness  on  matters  which  don't  concern  you.  I 
am  willing  to  say  to  you  frankly,  that  after  a  brief 
experience  with  her  I  ceased  to  desire  to  live  with 
her;  but  even  yet  I  do  not  think  she  had  any  good 
reason  to  leave  me  as  she  did.  It  took  her  to  her 
death,  and  in  the  long  run  has  made  you  pretty  much 
what  you  are.  So  I  do  not  see  that  I  can  blame  you 
in  all  things,  but  I  do  blame  you  for  the  pig-headed 
obstinacy  and  foolishness  you  showed  in  Denver. 
You  had  a  great  opportunity  to  befriend  those  who 
had  befriended  you  and  would  have  helped  you,  and 
you  wilfully,  even  maliciously,  threw  it  away." 

In  spite  of  his  feelings  Justin  maintained  a  dis 
creet  silence.  His  longing  for  something  more  than 
a  bare  recognition  of  his  relationship  he  saw  was  not 
to  be  gratified.  He  had  returned  the  diary  and  the 
Bible  to  his  pocket,  where  he  felt  them  close  against 
his  heart.  They  seemed  akin  to  an  actual  memory 
of  his  mother,  and  could  not  be  taken  from  him, 
whatever  happened.  Their  pressure  was  almost  as 
the  touch  of  his  mother's  warm  hand  on  his  bosom. 

"  If  you  like,"  Davison  went  on,  "  you  may  trans 
fer  yourself  to  this  house  and  remain  here,  doing 
what  work  on  the  ranch  you  please.  Some  of  the 
cowboys  have  been  dismissed,  and  others  will  be 
soon.  But  for  this  fact  that  you  are  my  son  I  should 
forbid  you  to  come  upon  the  place.  There  is  going 
to  be  a  change  in  the  business,  too;  your  votes  at 
Denver  helped  to  make  that  necessary,  and  perhaps 
in  that  change  you  may  find  work  more  congenial  to 
you  than  ranch  work.  Think  it  over.  I  want  to  do 
what  is  right  by  you.  I  will  see  that  you  have  em- 

238 


Father  and  Son 

ployment  if  you  want  it,  and  in  my  will  I  shall  see 
that  you  are  not  wholly  unprovided  for.  That  is 
all."  ' 

He  arose,  and  Justin  stood  up  in  flushed  confusion, 
having  said  not  a  word  either  in  justification  of  him 
self  or  his  mother.  He  had  no  words  now,  as  he 
passed  from  the  room  and  from  the  house,  though  if 
he  could  have  voiced  anything  it  would  have  been 
the  disappointment  that  murmured  in  his  heart. 

With  the  memory  of  that  interview  oppressing 
him,  Justin  questioned  whether  he  had  not  after  all 
been  stubborn,  pig-headed,  and  cruel.  He  reflected 
that  perhaps  he  had  been,  even  though  he  had  sought 
to  do  only  that  which  was  right.  His  mother,  he  had 
been  told,  possessed  an  "  uncomfortable  conscience," 
and  he  did  not  doubt  he  had  one  himself.  It  could 
not  be  wrong  to  do  right,  of  course,  but  at  times  it 
seemed  very  inexpedient.  Should  a  man  bend  him 
self  to  expediency?  If  he  had  done  so,  his  father 
would  have  received  him  doubtless  with  warm 
words,  instead  of  that  biting  chill  which  frosted  the 
very  glance  of  the  sunshine. 

Standing  in  the  yard  oppressed  and  tortured  by 
doubt,  Justin  saw  Lucy  Davison  coming  toward  him 
from  the  direction  of  the  little  grove.  The  cotton- 
woods  were  still  bare,  but  that  she  had  visited  them 
seemed  a  good  omen,  and  he  moved  toward  her. 

Her  brown  eyes  smiled  as  they  met  his.  She  was 
temptingly  beautiful;  a  mature  woman  now,  with 
the  beauty  of  a  fragrant  flower.  Her  clear  complex 
ion  had  not  changed  since  her  girlhood,  and  the  tint 
which  emotion  gave  to  her  cheeks  was  as  the  soft 

239 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

blush  of  the  ripening  peach.  She  was  more  beauti 
ful  than  when  a  girl ;  all  the  angularities  of  girlhood 
were  gone ;  and  when  from  his  greater  height  Justin 
looked  down  on  her  rounded  throat  and  swelling 
bosom,  and  caught  that  kindly  light  in  her  eyes,  he 
forgot  the  chill  of  the  room  from  which  he  had  come 
and  the  cold  calm  of  his  father's  speech. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  bad,  bad  boy,"  she  said, 
with  a  touch  of  sympathy,  as  she  put  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  "  but  I  hope  Uncle  Philip  hasn't  been  say 
ing  terrible  things  to  you.  You  have  been  to  see 
him,  I  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  to  see  him,  and  the  interview 
wasn't  wholly  pleasant.  Perhaps  I  have  been  the 
bad  boy  you  suggest,  and  he  may  be  justified;  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know.  All  I  know  is  I  tried  to  do  what 
was  right,  and  appear  to  have  made  a  mix  of  it." 

"  Come  in  and  we  will  talk  it  over.  Uncle  Philip 
told  me  this  morning  that  you  may  come  and  go  all 
you  want  to,  or  even  make  your  home  here  now. 
That  is  pleasant  news,  anyway,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Her  pleasant  manner  softened  the  recollection  of 
that  painful  interview  with  Philip  Davison.  So  Jus 
tin  passed  from  an  unpleasant  interview  to  one  so 
pleasant  that  it  almost  took  the  bitterness  and  the 
sting  out  of  the  first. 


240 


CHAPTER  XII 

CHANGING  EVENTS 

AMONG  those  who  were  first  to  welcome  Jus 
tin  on  his  return  to  Paradise  Valley  were 
Steve  and  Pearl  Harkness.  They  came  to 
Clayton's  with  their  little  daughter,  of  whom  they 
were  proud.  They  made  their  call  in  the  evening. 
Harkness  was  clad  in  new  brown  over-alls  and  jacket 
of  the  same  material,  and  looked  too  big  for  them. 
Mrs.  Harkness  rustled  in  a  dress  of  real  China  silk, 
whose  shade  of  red  made  her  round  red  face  seem 
even  hotter  and  redder  than  it  was.  Helen  was 
fluffy  in  white  skirts  that  stood  out  like  those  of  a 
ballet  dancer.  Clayton  in  his  dusty  snuff-colored 
clothing,  and  Justin  in  his  business  suit  of  checked 
gray  were  insignificant  figures  compared  with  Pearl 
Harkness  and  her  daughter. 

"  Now,  Helen,  what  was  it  I  told  you  to  do  ?  " 
said  Pearl,  lifting  a  plump  round  finger  and  shaking 
it  at  Helen,  as  soon  as  Harkness  had  finished  his 
boisterous  greetings. 

Helen  hesitated,  and  Pearl  catching  her  up  depos 
ited  her  in  Justin's  lap. 

"  Now,  what  was  it  I  told  you  to  do  ?  " 

Then  Helen  remembered.  Putting  her  chubby 
arms  about  Justin's  neck  and  leaning  hard  on  his 

241 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

breast,  while  she  squeezed  to  the  utmost  of  her 
strength,  she  said : 

"  I  love  you,  Dustin ;  I  love  you !  " 

Justin  clasped  her  tightly  in  his  strong  arms. 

"  I  love  you,  too !  "  he  declared,  and  kissed  her. 

Standing  by  while  he  held  Helen  thus,  Pearl,  with 
a  touch  that  was  almost  motherly,  pushed  the  cluster 
ing  dark  locks  back  from  his  forehead,  revealing  the 
scar  of  a  burn.  She  gave  it  a  little  love  pat. 

"  You  won't  mind?  "  she  said,  and  to  Justin's  sur 
prise  her  voice  choked  with  a  sudden  rush  of  tears. 
"  You  seem  almost  like  my  own  boy,  Justin.  You 
weren't  much  more  than  a  boy,  you  know,  when  you 
first  came  to  the  ranch ;  and  I  can't  help  remembering 
how  you  got  that  scar.  I  wanted  to  see  if  it  had 
gone  away  any." 

Harkness  coughed  suspiciously. 

"  If  you  ever  git  married,  and  your  wife  pulls 
out  so  much  of  your  hair  that  you're  bald-headed, 
that  scar's  goin'  to  show,"  he  said. 

Pearl  caught  Helen  out  of  Justin's  lap,  with  sud 
den  agitation. 

"  Helen,  you're  getting  dirt  all  over  Justin's  nice 
new  clothes !  "  With  bare  plump  hand  she  brushed 
away  some  infinitesimal  specks  which  Helen's  shoes 
had  left.  "  I  ought  to  have  looked  at  her  shoes  be 
fore  I  put  her  up  there !  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  to, 
Steve?  Helen,  you'll  never  be  a  lady,  unless  you 
keep  your  shoes  clean." 

"  All  them  heroes  and  hero-wines  of  Pearl's  keeps 
their  shoes  ferever  spick  an'  span  an'  shinin',"  said 
Harkness.  "  People  always  do,  you'll  notice,  in 

242 


Changing  Events 

books;  at  least  them  she  reads  about  do.  She  was 
readin'  a  book  yisterday,  and  I  looked  at  the  picture 
of  the  hero.  He  had  boots  on  that  come  to  his 
thighs,  and  they'd  jist  been  blacked.  And  the 
women  in  them  books  wear  more  fine  clothes  than 
you  could  find  in  a  milliner's  shop." 

"  Clothes  aren't  found  in  a  milliner's  shop, 
Steve !  "  Pearl  corrected,  as  she  settled  Helen  firmly 
on  her  feet  and  proceeded  to  spread  out  the  fluffy 
white  skirts.  "  Justin  will  think  you  don't  know 
anything." 

Helen,  escaping  from  her  mother's  clutches,  and 
apparently  glad  to  escape,  made  straight  for  Hark- 
ness,  who  caught  her  up,  planted  on  her  cheek  a 
resounding  kiss,  and  then  plumped  her  down  astride 
of  one  big  knee.  Pleased  by  this  preference,  his  face 
was  radiant. 

"  Justin,"  his  eyes  shone  with  enthusiasm  and  de 
light,  "  there  ain't  anything  like  bein'  married.  Try 
it.  I  used  to  think  I  was  havin'  fun,  cuttin'  round 
skittish  and  wild  like  a  loose  steer  on  the  range ;  this 
ain't  fun,  mebbe,  it's  comfort." 

"From  what  I  hear,  Justin  intends  to  try  it  one  of 
these  days,"  said  Pearl,  with  a  questioning  look. 
"  Don't  you  think  he  is,  Doctor  Clayton  ?  You're 
hearing  things  like  that,  aren't  you?  " 

Clayton  laughed,  and  glanced  at  Justin's  flushing 
face. 

"  I  can't  say  what  his  intentions  are,  but  if  they 
concern  a  certain  young  lady  I  could  name,  they  have 
my  hearty  approval." 

"  Yet  it  does  seem  almost  like  marrying  relatives," 

243 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

said  Pearl.  "  I  can't  get  used  to  that  yet.  I  had  a 
cousin  that  married  another  cousin;  and  their  chil 
dren — well,  you  just  ought  to  see  their  children !  " 

"  Monkeys,  air  they  ?  "  said  Harkness. 

"  Monkeys !  Why,  Steve,  they're  plum  fools ! 
They  don't  know  enough  to  come  into  the  house 
when  it  rains." 

"  This  would  be  a  good  country  fer  'em  to  live  in, 
then;  don't  rain  here  more'n  onc't  in  a  year,  and  I 
reckon  they  could  strain  their  intellects  enough  to 
git  a  move  on  'em  that  often." 

He  looked  at  Justin. 

"  Speakin'  of  this  country  and  rain,  we're  reck- 
onin',  Pearl  and  me,  that  we'll  take  up  farmin',  fer 
a  change;  think  it  might  be  healthy  fer  our  pocket 
book.  I've  had  notice  from  Davison  to  quit,  the  first 
of  the  month.  I  told  him  I'd  quit  to-morrow,  if  it 
suited  him  and  he  had  a  man  to  put  in  my  place ;  that 
if  he  didn't  think  I  was  earnin'  all  the  good  money 
I  got  and  a  little  bit  more,  I  did,  and  I  stood  ready 
to  go  on  short  notice,  or  without  any  notice  at  all. 
I've  knowed  it  was  comin'  this  good  while,  and  I've 
been  gittin'  ready  fer  it.  Davison  and  Fogg  air  sell- 
in*  off  a  good  many  cattle.  The  rest  they're  goin' 
to  throw  onto  the  mesa,  an'  water  at  the  water  holes 
of  the  Purgatoire;  the  gover'ment  is  orderin'  down 
the  fences,  and  it  would  take  an  army  of  cowboys 
to  hold  the  cattle  off  the  crops,  with  them  fences 
gone." 

Clayton  was  interested. 

"  Do  you  think  of  farming  here  in  the  valley?  " 
he  asked. 

244 


Changing  Events 

"  Yes,  we're  figgerin'  on  buyin'  Simpson's  place ; 
it's  well  up  toward  the  head  of  the  ditch,  and  if  any 
water  comes  we're  reckonin'  that  will  give  us  a 
whack  at  it.  Simpson's  made  me  an  offer  to  sell. 
I'm  jist  waitin'  to  see  what's  goin'  to  turn  up  here  in 
the  ditch  line." 

"  I  tell  him  he'll  wait  round  till  it's  too  late,"  said 
Pearl.  "  Fogg  will  buy  that  land  before  he  knows 
it ;  he's  buying  up  farms  everywhere,  for  himself  and 
Davison. 

She  turned  to  Justin  with  a  smile. 

"I've  been  wondering  if  you  wouldn't  get  married 
and  settle  down  to  farming,  too;  you  never  liked 
ranching." 

Pearl  was  as  much  of  a  match-maker  as  any  dow 
ager  of  her  favorite  novels. 

"  Pearl  won't  never  be  satisfied  until  that  weddin' 
comes  off,"  said  Harkness.  "  These  women  air 
bound  to  have  a  weddin'  happenin'  about  onc't  in  so 
often,  er  they  ain't  happy;  if  it  can't  be  their  own 
weddin',  another  woman's  will  do.  The  weddin's  of 
a  neighborhood  air  what  keeps  the  old  maids  alive, 
I  reckon;  they  live  ferever,  ye  know,  drawin'  hap- 
pinness  out  of  other  women's  marriages." 

"  I'm  not  an  old  maid !  "  Pearl  asserted  with  spirit. 

"  No ;  I  happened  along !  " 

Before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harkness  departed  that  eve 
ning,  Dicky  Carroll,  galloping  by,  stopped  for  a  few 
moments. 

"  I've  got  a  job  over  at  Borden's,"  he  announced 
to  Harkness.  "  He'll  be  a  better  man  to  git  along 
with  than  Davison,  anyway;  so  I'm  kinder  glad  to 

245 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

go.  And  if  I  stay  round  hyer  longer  I'll  be  tempted 
to  shoot  Ben  full  of  handsome  little  holes ;  he's  been 
meaner  than  a  polecat  to  me  ever  sense  that  election. " 

Then  he  shook  hands  with  Justin  and  Clayton, 
who  had  come  out  into  the  yard.  The  moonlight 
revealed  him  in  full  cowboy  attire,  with  his  rope 
coiled  at  the  saddle  bow. 

"  They're  sayin',  Justin,  that  you  helped  to  bu'st 
the  cattle  bizness  round  hyer.  I  ain't  believin'  it; 
but  if  you  did,  what's  the  dif  ?  There'll  be  plenty  of 
ranches  fer  as  long  a  time  as  I'm  able  to  straddle 
a  pony  and  sling  a  rope,  ranches  back  where  the 
farmers  can't  go.  When  I  can't  ride  a  horse  any 
longer  I'll  quit  cow-punchin'  and  go  to  playin'  gentle 
man  like  Ben.  From  the  fine  clothes  he  wears  I 
judge  there's  money  in  it.  Well,  so  long;  luck  to 
all  of  you! " 

Fogg  did  not  vary  from  his  custom,  when  he 
visited  Paradise  Valley.  He  came  over  to  Clayton's, 
and  sat  in  the  little  study,  in  the  chair  he  loved, 
which,  though  big,  was  now  almost  too  small  for 
him.  He  put  his  fat  hands  on  the  arms  of  the  chair, 
stretched  out  his  fat  legs,  and  with  his  watch  chain 
shining  like  a  golden  snake  across  his  big  stomach, 
talked  as  amiably  and  laughed  as  loudly  as  ever. 

Lemuel  Fogg  believed  that  it  is  better  to  bend 
before  the  storm  than  to  be  broken  by  it.  The  gov 
ernment  at  Washington  had  heard  from  the  farming 
settlers  and  irrigationists  of  the  West.  Many  states 
had  spoken  that  winter,  and  their  voice  had  been  as 
one.  The  agricultural  element,  feeble  and  scorned 
at  first,  was  becoming  a  power.  Congress,  heeding 

246 


Changing  Events 

its  voice,  was  beginning  to  devise  ways  and  means 
by  which  vast  areas  of  public  land  hitherto  thought 
fit  only  for  grazing,  if  for  that,  could  be  watered 
by  irrigation.  Even  the  East,  long  hostile  because  it 
did  not  want  more  rich  Western  lands  opened  to 
compete  with  Eastern  agriculture,  held  modified 
opinions.  The  order  of  the  land  department  for 
the  removal  of  the  illegal  fences  on  the  public  do 
main  was  to  be  enforced,  and  the  fences  had  begun 
to  come  down.  Seeing  the  hand  of  fate,  Fogg  and 
Davison  had  sold  some  of  their  cattle,  were  con 
tracting  their  grazing  area,  and  had  begun  to  take 
thought  of  other  things. 

"We'll  go  with  the  tide,"  said  Fogg,  whom  Dav 
ison  followed  in  most  things  pertaining  to  matters  of 
business,  for  Fogg's  success  had  been  phenomenal. 
"  What  do  we  care  whether  it's  cattle  or  something 
else,  if  we  can  get  money  out  of  it?  Never  buck 
against  the  government;  it's  too  strong,  and  you'll 
get  into  trouble.  We'll  turn  farmer ;  we'll  irrigate." 

So  Fogg  and  Davison  were  increasing  their  al 
ready  considerable  holdings  of  land  in  Paradise  Val 
ley,  by  purchases  from  settlers  and  from  th.e  mort 
gage  companies.  It  was  reported  that  in  some  places 
ranchmen  secured  land  by  inducing  their  cowboys 
to  settle  on  quarter-sections  and  so  obtain  title  from 
the  government.  Fogg  and  Davison  would  not  do 
that.  Not  because  they  were  too  scrupulous,  but  be 
cause  they  were  too  wise.  It  would  be  an  unpleas 
ant  thing  to  be  haled  into  court  for  land  swindling 
by  the  government  agents  who  were  ordering  down 
the  fences. 

247 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

While  thus  securing  the  land,  they  had  quietly  ob 
tained  a  controlling  interest  in  the  irrigating  canal 
which  the  settlers  had  constructed.  It  was  owned 
by  a  stock  company;  and  before  the  farmers  knew 
what  was  occurring  it  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
in  the  possession  of  Davison  and  Fogg. 

"  It  begins  to  look  as  though  you  were  right,  Jus 
tin,  and  that  I  was  wrong,  up  there  in  Denver,"  said 
Fogg,  sliding  his  fingers  along  his  watch  chain  and 
beaming  on  Justin.  "  I  couldn't  see  it  then,  but  it 
really  looks  it;  anyway,  your  side  seems  to  be  win 
ning  out,  and  I  didn't  think  it  could." 

"  I  thought  I  was  right,"  Justin  declared,  with 
vigorous  aggressiveness. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  did ;  but  I  thought  you  was 
wrong,  and  of  course  I  had  to  oppose  you.  But, 
anyway,  it's  all  right  now ;  we're  going  to  make  it  all 
right.  Some  few  of  the  farmers  are  kicking  because 
Davison  and  I  have  got  control  of  the  ditch,  but 
they'll  live  to  bless  the  day  the  thing  happened. 
We'll  strengthen  their  dam  and  enlarge  the  canal 
and  laterals  and  furnish  plenty  of  water.  Where 
they  watered  ten  acres  we'll  water  hundreds.  We've 
got  the  money  to  do  it  with,  and  they  hadn't;  that's 
the  difference." 

His  shining  watch  chain  rose  and  fell  on  his  heav 
ing  stomach,  as  he  talked.  Looking  at  it,  Justin 
could  almost  fancy  it  had  been  wrought  of  that  gold 
which  Fogg,  with  heavy  but  nimble  fingers,  gathered 
from  even  the  most  unpromising  places.  Fogg 
seemed  almost  a  Midas. 

248 


Changing  Events 

Fogg  did  not  take  his  departure  before  midnight, 
but  when  he  went  he  was  in  a  very  good  humor  with 
himself  and  all  the  world. 


249 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN    PARADISE  VALLEY 

COMING  one  forenoon  from  the  kitchen, 
where  she  had  been  instructing  the  new  cook 
installed  in  the  position  Pearl  had  held  so 
long,  Lucy  observed  Justin  walking  in  a  dejected 
manner  down  the  trail  that  led  to  Clayton's,  and  saw 
that  he  had  been  in  conversation  with  Philip  Dav- 
ison.  She  knew  what  that  conversation  had  been 
about,  and  when  Davison  came  into  the  house  she 
followed  him  up  to  his  room.  There  was  a  height 
ened  color  in  her  cheeks,  as  she  stood  before  her 
guardian.  He  looked  up,  a  frown  on  his  florid  face. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  almost  gruffly;  but  she 
was  not  to  be  put  down. 

"  You  won't  mind  telling  me  what  you  said  to 
Justin  awhile  ago  ?  " 

She  slid  into  a  chair,  and  sat  up  very  straight  and 
stiff. 

"  You  sent  him  to  me,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  didn't,  but  I  have  known  he  meant  to  speak  to 
you." 

"  He  wants  to  marry  you !  " 

"  That  isn't  news  to  me." 

"  No,  I  suppose  it  isn't.  But  what  has  he  got  to 
marry  on  ?  " 

250 


In  Paradise  Valley 

"  Now,  Uncle  Philip,  I'm  going  to  say  what  I 
think!  Justin  is  your  son,  and  every  father  owes 
something  to  his  child.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

Davison's  blue  eyes  snapped,  but  he  would  not  be 
angry  with  this  favorite  niece. 

''  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so,  if  you  put  it  that  way." 

"  Justin  and  I  have  been  just  the  same  as  en 
gaged  for  a  long  time." 

;<  Yes,  I've  known  that,  too.  I  told  him  to  show 
what  there  was  in  him ;  and,"  his  tone  became  bitter, 
"  he  has  shown  it !  " 

Lucy  refused  to  become  offended. 

"Of  course  we  can't  marry  unless  you  help  him 
along.  Justin  has  been  wanting  to  go  to  Denver. 
He  thinks  he  could  do  well  there  by  and  by,  after 
he  became  acquainted  and  had  a  start.  Doctor  Clay 
ton  knows  a  man  there  to  whom  he  will  give  him  a 
letter.  But  expenses  are  something  terrific  in  a  city, 
and  we  should  have  to  wait  a  long  time  before  Jus 
tin  could  work  up  to  a  salary  that  would  justify  us 
in  getting  married." 

"  So  it's  you  that  want's  to  get  married,  is  it?  " 

"  I  am  one  who  wants  to  get  married ;  Justin  is 
the  other." 

Davison  laughed  in  changing  mood. 

"  What  do  you  demand  that  I  shall  do?  " 

"  I  don't  demand  anything,  I  simply  suggest." 

"  Then  what  do  you  suggest  ?  He  had  the  nerve 
to  say  that  he  thinks  he  is  capable  of  managing  the 
new  ditch." 

"  I  simply  suggest  that  you  help  him  in  some  way, 
as  a  father  who  is  able  to  should.  He  has  worked 

251 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

for  you  a  long  time  for  very  small  wages ;  wages  so 
small  that  he  could  save  nothing  out  of  them,  as  you 
know.  I  think  that  you  ought  to  start  him  on  one 
of  the  farms  you  have  recently  bought,  or  else  give 
him  some  good  position,  with  a  salary  that  isn't  nig 
gardly.  It  seems  to  me  he  is  capable  and  worthy." 

"  If  I  don't  give  him  a  position,  that  will  postpone 
this  most  important  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  go  to  Denver." 

A  smile  wrinkled  Davison's  face  and  lighted  his 
blue  eyes. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Lucy ;  and  Justin  is  a — 
is  a  Davison!  And  that  means  he  is  hard-headed 
and  has  a  good  opinion  of  himself.  I'll  think  about 
it.  Now  run  down  and  see  that  the  cook  doesn't 
spoil  the  dinner.  She  burnt  the  bread  yesterday  un 
til  it  was  as  black  as  coal  and  as  hard  as  a  section 
of  asphalt  pavement.  By  the  way,  I  don't  suppose 
you  could  cook  or  do  housework  ?  " 

"  Try  me !  "  she  said,  relaxing. 

And  she  departed,  for  she  did  not  yet  trust  the 
new  cook. 

The  next  day  Davison  offered  Justin  the  position 
of  ditch  rider,  at  a  salary  that  made  Fogg  wince  and 
protest,  though  he  believed  Justin  to  be  the  very  one 
for  the  place.  That  Justin  should  be  given  this  po 
sition  seemed  even  to  Fogg  advisable,  as  a  business 
consideration.  The  "  rider  "  of  the  canal  and  ditches 
comes  into  closer  relationship  with  the  water  users 
than  any  other  person  connected  with  an  irrigation 
company.  He  sees  that  the  water  is  properly  meas 
ured  and  delivered,  and  he  makes  the  equitable  pro 

252 


In  Paradise  Valley 

rata  distribution  when  the  supply  is  low  or  failing. 
Justin  had  the  confidence  of  the  farmers;  and,  as 
there  were  sure  to  be  many  complaints,  he  would 
be  a  good  buffer  to  place  between  them  and  the  com 
pany.  ^ 

Justin  accepted  the  position.  In  a  financial  sense, 
it  promised  to  advance  him  very  materially ;  and  the 
prospect  of  the  proper  irrigation  of  Paradise  Val 
ley  pleased  both  him  and  Clayton.  It  was  the  be 
ginning  of  the  fulfillment  of  Peter  Wingate's  dream. 
Yet  Justin  knew  he  was  asked  to  undertake  a  diffi 
cult  task.  Even  when  they  had  everything  in  their 
own  hands,  the  farmers  had  wrangled  interminably 
over  the  equitable  distribution  of  the  water. 

Having  control  of  the  source  of  supply  and  of  the 
canal  and  laterals,  the  first  act  of  Fogg  and  Davison 
was  to  offer  water  to  the  farmers  at  increased  rates. 
They  were  strengthening  the  dam,  and  widening  the 
canal  and  laterals,  at  "  terrific  cost,"  Fogg  claimed, 
and  reimbursement  for  this  necessary  outlay  was 
but  just. 

It  was  Fogg  who  planned  and  Fogg  who  exe 
cuted.  This  was  new  business  to  him,  but  no  one 
would  have  guessed  it.  Over  his  oily,  scheming  face 
hovered  perpetual  sunshine.  His  manner  and  his 
arguments  subdued  even  intractable  men.  It  was 
said  of  him  that  he  could  get  blood  out  of  a  grind 
stone.  What  he  said  of  himself  was,  "  Whenever 
I  see  that  the  props  are  kicked  out  from  under  me, 
I  plan  to  have  some  kind  of  a  good  cushion  to  land 
on."  The  cushion  in  this  case  was  the  exploitation 

253 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

of  the  inevitable,  the  irrigation  of  Paradise  Valley, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  exploiters. 

Many  new  settlers  were  drawn  in  by  attractively- 
worded  advertisements.  Then  one  of  the  things 
Justin  had  feared  came  to  pass.  Fogg  sold  more 
water  than  he  could  deliver,  trouble  arose,  and  this 
trouble  descended,  in  great  measure,  on  the  head  of 
the  ditch  rider.  In  spite  of  all  he  could  do  to  dis 
tribute  the  water  fairly  complaints  and  protests  were 
made. 

Fogg  had  planned  for  this  condition,  and  he  was 
iron.  He  claimed  that  an  unusually  dry  year  had 
worked  against  the  success  of  the  company;  and  as 
there  was  a  clause  in  the  water  notes  covering  such  a 
failure  to  supply  water,  the  farmers  were  forced, 
sometimes  under  the  sheriff's  hammer,  to  pay  the 
notes  they  had  given.  Buying  sometimes  from  the 
sheriff,  and  sometimes  through  second  parties  from 
the  farmers  themselves,  for  numbers  of  them,  in 
disgust,  were  willing  to  sell  and  leave  the  country, 
before  the  end  of  the  first  year  Fogg  and  Davison 
had  greatly  increased  their  land  holdings,  by  "  per 
fectly  legitimate  "  methods. 


254 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  DOWNWARD  WAY 

MAKING  the  rounds  of  the  house  one  night 
before  retiring,  Lucy  came  upon  Ben  Davi- 
son  rummaging  through  the  desk  in  his 
father's  room.  The  drawers  of  the  desk  had  been 
pulled  out,  the  small  safe  had  been  opened,  and 
papers  littered  the  chairs  and  floor.  Surprised 
thus,  Ben  faced  her  with  an  angry  oath.  She  saw 
that  he  had  been  drinking.  Instead  of  putting  color 
into  his  pale  face,  intoxication  always  made  it  unnat 
urally  white  and  set  a  glassy  stare  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Ben  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I'm  looking  for  money,"  he  declared  surlily. 
"  Is  it  any  of  your  business  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is,  when  you  begin  to  look  for  it  in  this 
way.  Uncle  Philip  doesn't  know  you're  up  here." 

"  I'm  going  to  have  money,  that's  what !  "  he 
snarled.  "  Let  him  give  me  the  money  I  need,  in 
stead  of  driving  me  to  tricks  like  this." 

"  He  gave  you  money  only  the  other  day ;  I  saw 
him." 

"  How  much  ?  A  hundred  dollars !  There's 
money  in  this  room,  or  there  was,  and  I  know  it; 
and  I'm  going  to  have  it.  I'm  going  to  have  as 
much  as  I  want,  too,  when  I  get  my  hands  on  it." 

255 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  I  shall  have  to  report  you,  Ben !  " 

He  caught  her  fiercely  by  the  shoulders,  with  a 
clutch  that  made  her  wince  and  cry  out  in  pain. 

'  You  have  hurt  me,  Ben !  "  she  sobbed. 

"  I'll  kill  you,  if  you  come  meddling  with  my 
affairs!" 

He  pushed  her  against  the  wall,  and  faced  her 
with  so  threatening  a  mien  that  she  was  frightened. 
The  glare  in  his  glassy  eyes  was  enough  to  make  her 
tremble. 

"  If  you  say  anything  about  this  I'll  kill  you !  Do 
you  hear?  And  if  you  know  where  the  money  is  I 
want  you  to  tell  me." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  she  declared. 

"  Curse  you,  I  believe  you  do !  I  want  money,  and 
I'm  going  to  have  it.  I've  got  to  have  a  thousand 
dollars;  it's  here,  and  I  know  it." 

He  began  to  search  again,  tossing  the  papers 
about. 

"  Uncle  Philip  never  keeps  so  much  money  as  that 
in  the  house,  and  you  should  know  that  he  doesn't." 

"  Well,  he  could  get  it  for  me  if  he  wanted  to. 
He's  got  plenty  of  money.  I'm  tired  of  being  treated 
like  a  beggar.  He  says  he's  carrying  on  his  business 
so  that  he'll  have  money  to  leave  me  when  he's  dead ; 
but  that  isn't  what  I  want — I  want  it  now." 

"  Won't  you  go  down  stairs,  Ben  ?  "  she  begged. 
"  You  almost  broke  my  shoulder,  but  I  shan't  mind 
that  if  you  will  go  down  stairs ;  and  I'll  straighten  up 
these  papers  for  you  and  return  them  to  their 
places." 

256 


The  Downward  Way 

"  I  won't !  I'm  going  to  see  if  that  money  he  got 
from  Fogg  yesterday  is  here." 

"  He  put  it  in  the  bank  of  course,  Ben ;  he 
wouldn't  run  the  risk  of  keeping  it  in  the  house." 

"  You  go  down  stairs  or  I'll  make  you,"  he  threat 
ened. 

She  did  not  go. 

"  What  do  you  want  the  money  for — to  pay  a 
gambling  debt  to  Arkwright  ?  " 

"  Arkwright !  "  he  screamed  at  her.  "  It's  always 
Arkwright!  But  I'll  tell  you,  this  money  isn't  for 
him.  Instead  of  troubling  me,  why  don't  you  go 
to  that  puler,  Justin?  He'll  be  glad  to  see  you, 
maybe;  I'm  not.  So  clear  out." 

"  He  is  your  brother !  " 

"  My  half-brother,  he  says ;  I've  not  acknowl 
edged  the  relationship  yet !  " 

She  could  do  nothing  with  him,  and  she  retreated 
down  the  stairs.  For  some  time  she  heard  him  walk 
ing  about;  then  he  descended  and  left  the  house. 
When  he  was  gone  she  went  up  to  the  room  and 
found  that  he  had  tried  to  re-arrange  the  papers,  but 
had  made  a  mess  of  it.  She  put  them  away  as  well 
as  she  could,  and  closed  the  drawers  and  the  safe. 
She  did  not  believe  that  he  had  secured  any  money, 
but  she  did  not  know.  And  she  passed  a  bad  night, 
not  knowing  whether  to  acquaint  Davison  with  this 
latest  of  Ben's  escapades  or  not. 


257 


CHAPTER  XV 
MARY'S  DESPAIR 

JUSTIN  had  found  Sloan  Jasper  one  of  the  most 
troublesome  of  the  water  users.  Jasper  was 
almost  as  hard  to  please  as  William  Sanders; 
and  only  the  day  before  Sanders  had  denounced  Jus 
tin  as  being  in  league  with  the  company  to  defraud 
the  farmers.  For  these  reasons  Justin  always  ap 
proached  the  farms  of  these  men  with  trepidation. 
Trouble  was  brewed  on  each  visit. 

The  trouble  which  brewed  at  Sloan  Jasper's  on 
this  particular  occasion  was,  however,  wholly  unex 
pected,  and  of  quite  a  different  kind.  Jasper  came 
out  to  the  trail  with  an  anxious  air, 

"  Mary  is  in  the  house  and  wants  you  to  stop  in 
and  see  her." 

Justin  dismounted  to  enter  the  house.  He  had 
not  known  that  Mary  was  at  home. 

"  It's  about  Ben/'  said  Jasper,  "  and  I  wish  he 
was  in  hell !  The  way  he  is  carry  in'  on  is  killin'  my 
girl  by  inches." 

With  this  stout  denunciation  of  Ben  ringing  in  his 
ears  Justin  went  in  to  see  Mary.  She  had  been  cry 
ing.  Jasper  followed  him  into  the  house  and  stood 
within  the  doorway,  in  an  uneasy,  angry  attitude, 
holding  his  soiled  hat  in  his  hands. 

258 


Mary's  Despair 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  about  Ben,"  said  Mary,  ris 
ing  to  greet  Justin. 

Her  cheeks  were  pale  and  her  eyes  lacked  lustre. 
With  that  rose-leaf  color  gone,  her  face  was  so 
pallid  that  it  deepened  by  contrast  the  darkness  of 
her  eyes  and  her  hair.  She  was  rather  handsome, 
in  spite  of  all,  in  one  of  those  Denver  dresses  chosen 
by  Sibyl  Dudley,  which  served  to  make  her  look 
taller  and  more  stately  than  she  was. 

Mary's  desire  was  to  have  Justin  do  something  to 
induce  Ben  to  let  liquor  alone.  She  acknowledged 
that  she  had  lost  all  control  over  him,  if  she  had  ever 
had  any.  More  than  once  he  had  treated  her  brutal 
ly  while  in  a  fit  of  intoxication.  Yet  she  had  clung 
to  him.  Having  won  her  girlish  love,  he  still  held 
it.  She  had  long  hoped  that  he  would  abandon  his 
wild  ways  after  awhile  and  become  a  sober,  sensible 
man,  to  whom  she  could  trust  her  life  and  happi 
ness.  She  admitted  that  the  hope  was  growing 
faint. 

"  I  don't  see  what  I  can  do/'  said  Justin,  touched 
by  her  unhappiness,  and  perplexed.  "  If  I  go  to 
Ben  and  say  anything  to  him  he  will  only  insult  me. 
He  hasn't  liked  me  for  a  long  time,  as  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  would  speak  to  Mr.  Davison," 
Mary  urged,  with  pathetic  persistence. 

Justin  was  sure  that  would  present  almost  as 
many  difficulties.  He  knew  that  Philip  Davison  had 
long  reasoned  with  Ben,  and  raved  at  him,  in  vain. 

"  Since  it's  known  that  you  are  his  half-brother,  I 
thought  possibly  you  could  do  something.  I've  tried 
until  I  don't  know  what  to  try  next." 

259 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  Give  the  scamp  the  go-by,"  said  Jasper  hotly. 
"  Throw  him  over.  Have  some  spunk  about  you, 
can't  ye?  Why,  if  I  was  a  woman,  and  a  man  should 
treat  me  as  he  has  you,  I'd  send  him  hummin'  in  a 
jiffy;  I  wouldn't  stand  it." 

"  But  you  don't  understand,  father." 

"  Don't  I  ?  I  understand  too  tarnal  well.  If  I 
had  my  way  I'd  kick  his  ornery  carcass  out  of  this 
house,  if  he  ever  ventured  to  set  foot  in  it  ag'in. 
That'd  be  my  way.  Any  other  way  is  a  fool's  way, 
and  you  ought  to  know  it." 

"  Don't  listen  to  him,  Justin,"  said  Mary,  tear 
fully.  '  You  must  know  how  I  feel,  even  if  he 
doesn't.  And  if  you  can  do  anything  to  get  Ben  to 
stop  drinking  and  running  around  with  Clem  Ark- 
wright  I  wish  you  would." 

Never  more  than  at  that  moment  did  Justin  long 
for  some  influence  with  Ben.  He  knew  he  had 
none.  He  made  what  promises  he  could,  but  they 
were  not  very  assuring.  Mary  followed  him  to  the 
door,  still  urging  him. 

Riding  on,  thinking  of  Mary,  Justin  encountered 
Lucy.  She  joined  him,  and  they  rode  together  along 
the  homeward  trail.  When  she  rallied  him  on  his 
depressed  manner,  he  told  her  of  Mary's  appeal. 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted,  "  I  had  heard  she  was  at 
home,  and  I  know  only  too  well  that  Ben  has  been 
drinking  more  than  ever  of  late.  I  can  see  that  it  is 
hurting  Uncle  Philip  very  much.  He  has  always  be 
lieved  that  when  Ben  sows  what  he  calls  his  wild  oats 
he  will  change  and  be  a  man,  but  I've  doubted  it. 
There  isn't  anything  you  can  do,  not  a  thing ;  but  I 

260 


Mary's  Despair 

shall  go  to  see  Mary,  and  try  to  make  her  feel 
better. " 

She  looked  earnestly  at  Justin,  riding  beside  her. 
He  had  put  aside  the  checked  business  suit  of  gray, 
and  was  clad  roughly,  as  became  his  muddy  calling. 
Yet  how  manly  he  was,  however  he  dressed;  how 
broad  his  shoulders,  how  sturdy  and  well-knit  his 
frame,  how  clear  and  open  his  countenance,  and  how 
intelligent  and  attractive  the  flash  of  his  eyes,  as  he 
conversed  with  her!  She  knew  that  she  loved  him 
more  than  ever. 

"  One  would  never  dream  that  you  are  related 
to  Ben!" 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  like  him,  even  though  he  is  my 
half-brother." 

"  You  aren't,  not  in  the  least ;  I  don't  think  I 
could  like  you  so  well  as  I  do  if  you  were." 

"Then  you  do  like  me?" 

He  looked  at  her,  smiling. 

"  It  would  be  only  natural  for  me  to  like  the  man 
I  have  promised  to  marry,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  I  was  merely  hoping  that  you  love  me ;  like  is 
too  mild  a  word." 

Then  they  began  to  talk  again  of  that  delightful 
day,  ever  hastening  nearer,  as  they  believed,  when 
they  should  be  not  merely  lovers,  but  husband  and 
wife.  It  was  a  pleasant  dream,  and  they  lingered  by 
the  way,  as  they  contemplated  its  beauties. 

As  they  thus  talked  and  loitered,  Ben  Davison 
came  driving  by  in  his  dog-cart,  with  Clem  Ark- 
wright.  Ark wright's  pudgy  form  was  not  quite  so 
pudgy,  for  he  had  not  lived  as  well  of  late,  but  his 

261 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

face  and  nose  were  as  red  as  ever,  and  his  old  man 
ner  had  not  forsaken  him.  He  bowed  elaborately 
to  both  Lucy  and  Justin. 

"  A  great  day,"  he  called,  "  a  glorious  day,  and 
the  old  mountain  is  grand;  just  take  a  glance  at  it 
now  and  then  as  you  ride  along;  you'll  never  see 
anything  finer ! " 

Ben  did  not  look  at  Justin;  but  to  Lucy  he 
shouted : 

"  I'm  going  to  town  to  sell  the  horse  and  dog 
cart.  I  told  you  I  would.  Arkwright  knows  a  man 
who  will  buy  them." 

When  Lucy  called  on  Mary,  she  heard  details  of  a 
story  which  Mary  had  not  ventured  to  hint  to  Justin. 
Mary  had  made  a  discovery  too  long  delayed.  Ben's 
frequent  visits  to  Denver  were  not  merely  to  see 
her;  the  real  attraction  was  Sibyl  Dudley.  Sibyl 
was  the  recipient  of  most  of  the  money  Ben  had  been 
able  to  wring  from  his  father  or  gain  at  gambling. 
Her  calls  for  money  had  increased  his  recklessness. 
Sibyl  was  the  horse-leech's  daughter,  crying  ever 
for  more,  and  Ben  was  weak. 

Mary  had  pedestaled  Sibyl  and  believed  in  her, 
refusing  to  see  aught  but  goodness,  until  her  foolish 
belief  became  no  longer  possible.  Then,  with  her 
eyes  opened,  she  marvelled  at  her  almost  incompre 
hensible  blindness.  Why  had  she  not  seen  before? 
If  she  had  seen  before  she  might  have  saved  Ben, 
she  thought.  She  recalled  the  genial  Mr.  Plimpton. 
Had  Sibyl,  by  incessant  demands  for  money, 
wrought  the  financial  overthrow  of  Plimpton? 
Every  suggestion  that  came  to  her  now  was  sicken- 

262 


Mary's  Despair 

ing  and  horrible.  Such  an  awakening  is  often  dis 
astrous  in  its  results.  Doubt  of  humanity  itself  is 
a  fruit  of  that  tree  of  knowledge,  and  that  doubt 
had  come  to  Mary. 

Lucy  took  the  unhappy  girl  in  her  arms.  She  was 
herself  grieved  and  shocked. 

"  You  poor  dear !  "  was  all  she  was  able  to  say 
at  first. 

"  And,  oh,  I  am  to  blame  for  it  all ! "  Mary 
sobbed,  putting  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  her  com 
forter.  "  I  can  see  what  a  fool  I  was,  and  it  was 
pride  that  made  me  a  fool.  I  went  up  there  as 
ignorant  as  a  child ;  I  thought  it  would  be  fine  to  live 
in  a  city  and  be  a  lady  and  drive  round  in  a  carriage. 
How  I  hate  that  carriage!  And  that  coachman.  I 
know  even  he  must  have  thought  horrid  things  about 
me.  And  Plimpton!  I  know  what  Plimpton  was 
now,  and  I  hate  him.  It  seems  to  me  I  could  stamp 
on  him  if  I  saw  him  fall  down  in  the  street.  And 
I — I  hate — oh,  there  isn't  a  word  strong  enough  to 
tell  how  I  hate  Mrs.  Dudley !  I  thought  she  was  an 
angel,  and  she  is — is — a  brute !  " 

"  You  poor  dear !  "  said  Lucy,  smoothing  back  the 
dark  hair  from  the  fevered  and  tear-wet  face.  "  You 
poor  dear!  You  have  been  cruelly  deceived  and 
abused.  It  doesn't  seem  possible!  I  was  as  much 
deceived  as  you,  for  I  thought  Mrs.  Dudley  a  very 
pleasant  woman.  There  were  some  things  about 
her  I  didn't  like,  about  the  way  she  dressed  and 
painted,  yet  I  never  thought  but  that  she  was  a  good 
woman.  I  didn't  suspect  anything,  for  you  told  me 
she  was  rich." 

263 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  And  that's  what  she  told  me,  but  she  lied ;  she's 
been  getting  her  money  from  fools  like  Plimpton 
and  Ben.  And  I  used  her  money,  and  lived  in  her 
house,  and  rode  about  in  her  carriage  with  all  Den 
ver  gaping  at  me,  and  never  knew  a  thing.  Even 
this  dress  I  have  on  was  bought  with  her  money.  I 
want  to  tear  it  off  and  stamp  it  into  the  mud ;  but  I 
haven't  a  thing  to  wear  that  she  didn't  get  for  me, 
not  a  thing.  And  my — my  silly  pride  is  to  blame — 
is  to  blame  for  Ben,  and  everything.  If  I  hadn't 
gone  with  her  Ben  might  never  have  met  her.  But 
if  Ben  could  only  be  induced  to  quit  drinking,  some 
thing  could  be  done  with  him  yet.  I  almost  wish  he 
would  get  sick;  anything  to  keep  him  away  from 
that  woman." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did,  when  I  hinted  at  what  I  had  dis 
covered  and  told  him  I  had  left  Denver  for  good  and 
all;  he  told  me  I  was  a  little  idiot.  But  I  didn't 
mind  that ;  I've  got  so  used  to  his  harsh  words  that 
I  don't  mind  them;  but  this  I  couldn't  stand,  this 
about  Sibyl.  So  then  I  put  aside  my  shame,  and  I 
told  him  right  to  his  face  that  I  was  a  silly  idiot  or 
I  would  never  speak  to  him  again ;  and  he  confessed 
to  me  that  he  had  been  going  there  to  see  Mrs.  Dud 
ley  more  than  me,  and  said  he  would  go  as  often  as 
he  pleased,  and  that  I  could  help  myself ;  and  he  said, 
too,  that  he  intended  to  marry  her.  But  I  know  that 
isn't  so ;  he  would  never  marry  her  now.  I  told  him 
he  wouldn't,  and  begged  him  to  remember  his  prom 
ises  to  me  and  keep  away  from  her ;  and  he  told  me 

264 


Mary's  Despair 

to  shut  my  mouth  and  mind  my  own  business.  As 
if  that  isn't  my  own  business !  " 

She  began  to  cry  again;  and  Lucy,  holding  her 
tightly,  rocked  her  as  if  she  were  a  child. 

"  And,  oh,  I  was  so  happy !  So  happy,  until  I 
knew  that!  It  was  a  selfish  happiness  I  see  now, 
but  I  thought  it  was  true  happiness.  I  thought 
everything  of  Mrs.  Dudley — just  everything;  and  I 
thought  she  loved  me  as  much  as  I  loved  her ;  and  to 
have  this  come!  It  breaks  my  heart,  it  breaks  my 
heart!  Oh,  Ben,  Ben!" 

She  lay  in  Lucy's  arms.  Their  tears  flowed  to 
gether.  But  what  could  be  said  to  comfort  her? 

"  Did  Mrs.  Dudley  say  anything?  " 

"  When  I  reproached  her  she  was  indignant  and 
denied  it;  she  cried,  and  said  I  was  an  ungrateful 
girl  and  did  not  deserve  to  have  a  friend.  She  de 
clared  that  Ben  came  only  to  see  me ;  but  in  her  very 
confusion  I  could  see  that  she  was  lying,  for  when 
my  eyes  began  to  open  they  became  sharp  as  needles. 
Oh,  I  could  see  through  her,  after  that!  I  told  her 
she  had  stolen  Ben  from  me,  and  all  for  his  money, 
and  that  she  was  ruining  him,  and  that  it  would  kill 
me.  I  don't  know  what  I  said,  for  I  was  crazy,  and 
I  was  crying  so  that  I  thought  my  heart  would 
break.  And  just  as  soon  as  I  could  get  out  of  the 
house  I  did,  and  I  came  right  down  here;  but  even 
then  I  had  to  use  her  money,  a  little  money  she  had 
given  me,  to  pay  car  fare,  for  I  hadn't  any  other. 
But  just  the  thought  of  it  made  me  want  to  jump  off 
that  train  and  kill  myself." 

265 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"You  poor  dear!" 

And  Lucy,  holding  her  in  a  close  embrace,  kissed 
the  tear-stained  face. 


266 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 

THE  knowledge  of  why  Mary  had  returned  so 
suddenly  came  first  to  Justin  through 
Sloan  Jasper  himself.  Jasper  met  Justin  as 
he  rode  along  the  trail  the  next  day,  and  told  him 
all  about  it,  without  veiled  words,  and  with  many 
fierce  oaths. 

"  He's  killed  my  girl,  damn  him ;  broke  her  heart ! 
She's  home,  cryin'  her  eyes  out  day  and  night,  and 
all  on  account  of  him.  She's  a  fool ;  I  wouldn't  look 
at  the  skunk  ag'in,  if't  was  me;  but  she's  a  woman 
and  that  accounts  fer  it,  and  it's  killin'  her." 

Justin  hastened  to  convey  the  news  to  Curtis 
Clayton,  whom  he  found  at  home,  in  the  front  yard, 
engaged  in  freeing  a  butterfly  from  the  spoke-like 
web  of  a  geometric  spider.  A  flush  of  indignation 
swept  through  Justin,  as  the  thought  came  to  him 
that  perhaps  Clayton  had  known  all  along  and  had 
kept  silent.  Clayton  took  the  butterfly  in  his  hands 
and  began  to  remove  the  clinging  mesh  from  its 
golden  wings.  When  he  had  done  so  his  fingers 
were  smeared  with  its  gold  dust  and  it  crawled  along 
unable  to  fly.  He  regarded  it  thoughtfully. 

"  I've  done  the  best  I  could ;  I  released  it,  but  I 
can't  put  the  gold  back  on  its  wings,  nor  mend  them. 

267 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

The  rest  of  its  life  it  will  be  a  draggled  wreck,  but 
luckily  it's  life  will  be  short." 

Then  Justin  told  him  what  he  had  learned  from 
Sloan  Jasper. 

Clayton  cast  the  draggled  butterfly  away  and  sank 
to  a  seat  on  the  door-step.  His  face  filled  with  a 
troubled  look.  For  a  little  while  he  said  nothing. 

"  I  suppose  that  I  am  partly  to  blame  for  that," 
he  confessed,  humbly.  "  I  have  never  talked  to  you 
about  Mrs.  Dudley,  but  I  will  tell  you  now  that  she 
was  once  my  wife." 

Justin  showed  no  surprise. 

"  I  knew  it." 

"  You  knew  it !  How  ?  I  never  mentioned  it  to 
you." 

"  No,  but  I  have  seen  that  photograph  of  her  you 
have  treasured,  and  I  saw  her  that  day  of  the  rabbit 
hunt.  Putting  those  two  things  together,  with 
something  that  Mary  told  Lucy,  made  me  sure  that 
she  had  once  been  your  wife." 

Clayton  was  bewildered. 

"  Something  Mary  told  Lucy?  " 

"  Yes,  about  your  arm ;  Mrs.  Dudley  told  Mary 
how  you  came  to  have  a  stiff  arm,  and  though  she 
did  not  admit  that  she  was  the  woman  who  caused 
it,  and  Mary  did  not  suspect  it  then,  Lucy  did;  and 
she  told  me  about  it." 

Clayton  stared  at  the  butterfly  crawling  away 
through  the  grass. 

"  When  I  heard  that  Mary  had  gone  with  Mrs. 
Dudley  to  Denver,  I  rode  over  to  Sloan  Jasper's  to 
tell  him  that  I  feared  it  was  not  wise.  But,  really, 

268 


The  Wages  of  Sin 

I  had  nothing  on  which  to  base  a  charge,  except  my 
suspicions.  I  knew  why  I  had  left  her,  but  nothing 
more.  And  my  courage  failed.  I  said  nothing,  and 
I  should  have  said  something.  But,"  he  leaned  back 
wearily  against  the  door,  "  when  you  come  to  love  a 
woman  as  I  loved  her,  Justin,  you  will  perhaps  know 
how  I  felt,  and  why  I  hesitated.  I  was  weak,  be 
cause  of  that  love ;  that  is  all  I  can  say  about  it." 

The  contempt  growing  for  Clayton  in  Justin's 
heart  was  swept  away.  He  knew  what  love,  true 
love,  is;  the  love  which  believeth  all  things,  hopeth 
all  things,  endureth  all  things ;  which  changes  never, 
though  all  the  world  is  changed. 

"  I  loved  her,"  Clayton  went  on,  his  deep  voice 
trembling,  "  and  rather  than  say  anything  that  might 
not  be  true  I  said  nothing.  I  did  wrong.  And  I  am 
punished,  for  this  thing  hurts  me  more  than  you  can 
know." 

Justin  had  come  close  to  Clayton's  heart  many 
times,  but  never  closer  than  now.  He  looked  at  the 
suffering  man  with  much  sympathy.  Clayton  swung 
his  stiff  arm  toward  the  crawling  butterfly. 

"  It  can  never  be  the  same  again ;  I  was  never  the 
same  again,  nor  can  Ben  be.  It  has  been  in  the  web, 
and  its  wings  are  broken  and  the  gold  gone.  We 
think  that  under  given  circumstances  we  would  not 
do  certain  things,  but  we  don't  know.  Environ 
ment,  heredity,  passions  of  various  kinds,  selfish 
ness,  pull  us  this  way  and  that ;  and  when  we  declare, 
as  so  many  do,  that  if  we  were  this  person  or  that 
we  should  not  do  as  he  or  she  does,  we  simply  pro 
claim  our  ignorance.  There  is  not  a  man  alive  who 

269 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

knows  himself  to  the  innermost  core  of  his  being.  I 
am  a  dozen  men  rolled  into  one,  and  the  whole 
dozen  ar:  contemptible.  I  despise  myself  more  than 
you  can." 

"  Why  should  you  say  that?  " 

"  You  did  despise  me,  or  came  near  it,  a  moment 
ago ;  I  saw  it  in  your  manner." 

"  Was  my  manner  different  ?  I  didn't  know  it, 
and  didn't  intend  that  it  should  be.  But  I  couldn't 
understand  how  you  could  keep  still  so  long,  if  you 
knew." 

"  I  kept  still  because  I  am  a  coward,  and  because 
I  loved  that  woman.  That  explains  everything;  ex 
plains  why  I  am  here  in  Paradise  Valley,  living  like 
a  hermit.  I  wanted  to  get  away,  and  I  wanted  to 
forget.  I  got  away,  but  if  one  could  take  the  wings 
of  the  morning  he  could  never  out-fly  memory.  I 
could  never  live  happily  with  that  woman,  and  I 
have  never  been  able  to  live  happily  without  her. 
When  she  came  into  my  life  she  wrecked  it.  Some 
women  are  born  to  that  fate,  I  suppose ;  and  if  that 
is  so,  perhaps  they  ought  not  to  be  blamed  too 
severely.  But  I  am  sorry  for  Mary  Jasper,  and  I  am 
more  than  sorry  for  Ben.  He  was  already  going  to 
the  devil  at  a  lively  gait.  Sibyl  is  one  of  those 
women  whose  feet  take  hold  on  hell,  and  she  will 
drag  him  down  with  her,  if  he  does  not  get  out  of 
her  web,  or  is  not  helped  out.  And  I'm  afraid  he 
can't  be  helped  out." 

Clayton  set  out  to  see  Davison,  and  have  a  talk 
with  him  on  this  disagreeable  subject;  but,  as  be- 

270 


The  Wages  of  Sin 

fore  when  he  desired  to  speak  to  Sloan  Jasper,  he 
turned  back  without  saying  anything. 

Davison  seemed  not  to  know  what  had  occurred. 
He  and  Fogg  went  often  to  and  from  Denver,  as 
they  continued  their  work  of  exploiting  Paradise 
Valley  for  the  benefit  of  their  pockets.  From  Den 
ver  they  had  brought  an  engineer,  who  had  made  a 
survey  and  report  on  the  available  sources  of  water. 
Behind  a  granite  ridge,  at  the  head  of  the  valley, 
flowed  Warrior  River,  a  swift  stream  that  wasted  it 
self  uselessly  in  the  deep  gorges  that  lay  to  the 
southwest.  The  engineer's  report  showed  that  a 
tunnel  cut  through  that  ridge  would  pour  Warrior 
River  into  Paradise  Creek  and  water  many  thou 
sands  of  acres  of  land  which  could  not  now  be 
touched. 

"  We'll  do  it  later,"  Fogg  had  said  to  Davison, 
when  they  examined  the  plans  and  estimates.  "  It's 
going  to  take  too  much  money  right  now.  We'll 
try  to  get  those  thousands  of  acres  into  our  own 
hands  first.  Then  we'll  cut  that  tunnel  and  build 
that  dam,  and  we'll  squeeze  a  fortune  out  of  the  busi 
ness.  We  may  have  to  float  irrigating  bonds,  and 
put  blanket  mortgages  on  the  land,  but  it  will  pay 
big  in  the  end." 

Davison  was  subservient  to  the  man  who  had  the 
Midas  touch.  It  was  still  for  Ben,  all  for  Ben;  to 
gain  wealth  for  Ben  he  was  permitting  himself  to  be 
led  by  one  who  in  matters  of  business  never  had  a 
straight  thought. 

As  they  returned  from  Denver  one  night  by  a 
late  train,  a  lantern  was  swung  across  the  track  at 

271 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

the  cut  near  the  head  of  Paradise  Valley,  a  mile 
above  the  town.  The  whistle  screamed,  and  the 
air-brakes  being  applied,  the  train  came  to  a  stop  so 
suddenly  that  the  passengers  were  almost  thrown 
from  their  seats.  Before  the  grinding  of  the  wheels 
had  ceased  shots  were  heard  outside. 

Fogg  clutched  the  big  wallet  tucked  in  the  inner 
pocket  of  his  coat. 

"  By  George,  it's  a  hold-up,"  he  cried,  his  fat 
body  trembling,  "  and  I've  got  a  thousand  dollars 
in  cash  here  to  give  to  those  fool  farmers  who 
wouldn't  accept  our  checks  in  payment  for  their 
land!" 

He  sank  back  into  the  seat,  quivering  like  a  bag  of 
jelly.  Fear  of  the  loss  of  that  money  unnerved  him. 
Davison  was  of  different  mold.  As  the  shots  con 
tinued,  and  he  heard  voices,  and  saw  men  jumping 
from  their  seats,  he  sprang  into  the  aisle,  tugging 
at  the  revolver  he  carried  in  his  hip  pocket.  Fogg 
sought  to  restrain  him. 

"  Sit  down !  Don't  be  a  fool !  Let  the  other  fel 
lows  do  the  fighting.  That's  always  my  rule,  and 
it's  a  good  one.  If  I'm  not  troubled  here,  I'll  prom 
ise  not  to  trouble  anybody." 

But  Davison  was  gone,  following  close  after  a 
man  he  saw  hurrying  to  the  platform.  He  and 
Fogg  were  in  the  smoking  car,  which  was  next  to 
the  combination  baggage-and-express  car.  Other 
men  dropped  from  the  platform  steps  to  the  ground 
as  he  did,  and  some  of  them  began  to  fire  off  their 
revolvers,  shooting  apparently  into  the  air. 

Davison  was  not  a  man  to  waste  his  ammunition 

272 


The  Wages  of  Sin 

in  a  mere  effort  to  frighten  the  robbers  by  the  rattle 
of  a  harmless  fusillade.  He  saw  a  masked  figure 
moving  near  the  forward  car,  and  he  let  drive,  with 
aim  so  true  that  the  masked  figure  pitched  forward 
on  its  face.  The  other  robbers,  disconcerted  by  the 
resistance,  were  already  in  retreat. 

With  a  grim  feeling  of  satisfaction  Davison  called 
loudly  for  a  lantern.  One  was  brought  hurriedly; 
and  a  train  man,  whipping  out  his  knife,  severed 
the  strings  that  held  the  mask  in  place  over  the  face 
of  the  slain  robber.  Fogg  was  still  in  the  smoker, 
his  fat  body  shaking  with  fear. 

As  the  mask  dropped  aside,  the  light  of  the  lan 
tern  revealed  to  the  startled  gaze  of  Philip  Davison 
Ben's  pallid,  dissipated  face.  He  was  bending  for 
ward  to  look,  and  with  a  hoarse  and  inarticulate 
cry  he  fell  headlong  across  the  body  of  his  son. 

One  of  the  robbers  was  captured  that  night,  as 
he  attempted  to  escape  into  the  hills.  The  town  and 
the  valley  had  been  aroused.  Steve  Harkness  led  the 
capturing  party,  and  short  work  was  made  of  this 
robber.  When  morning  dawned  a  rope  and  a  tele 
graph  pole  alone  upheld  him  from  the  earth.  As  the 
body  swung  at  the  sport  of  the  wind,  the  blackened 
face  was  turned  now  and  then  toward  the  flat-topped 
mountain.  On  the  breast  was  displayed  this  scrawl : 

"SO'S  HE  CAN  LOOK  AT  THE  SCEN 
ERY." 

The  body  was  that  of  Clem  Arkwright. 


273 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SHADOWS  BEFORE 

PHILIP  DAVISON,  conveyed  to  his  home  in 
Paradise  Valley,  hovered  between  life  and 
death,  attended  by  Doctor  Clayton  and 
waited  upon  by  Lucy  and  Justin.  Fogg  lent  a  hand 
with  hearty  will,  and  Pearl  Harkness,  forgetting 
that  there  had  ever  been  any  disagreement  between 
Davison  and  her  husband,  established  herself  again 
for  a  time  in  the  Davison  home,  that  she  might  as 
sist  Lucy.  Steve  Harkness,  not  to  be  outdone  by 
his  wife,  offered  his  services  in  any  way  they  could 
be  utilized,  and  found  that  there  was  enough  for 
him  to  do. 

Davison  improved  somewhat,  but  could  not  leave 
his  bed.  From  the  strong  man  he  had  been  reduced 
until  he  was  as  helpless  as  a  child;  and  for  a  time 
his  mental  strength  was  but  little  better  than  his 
physical. 

Before  going  back  to  Denver  Fogg  took  Justin 
aside. 

"  I  don't  see  but  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  look 
after  things  here,  Justin,  while  I  am  gone." 

"  Command  me  in  any  way,"  said  Justin. 

"  It's  a  lucky  thing  that  you're  capable  of  taking 
hold  now.  Some  one  ought  to  visit  the  Purgatoire 

274 


Shadows  Before 

and  see  how  the  cattle  are  doing  there,  and  some  one 
must  ride  the  ditch  and  look  out  for  matters  at  this 
end  of  the  line.  Harkness  can  go  to  the  Purgatoire ; 
he  will  go  if  you  ask  him,  though  likely  he  wouldn't 
for  me;  and  you  can  have  charge  here." 

Fogg  was  mentally  distressed.  The  shock  had 
left  its  traces  even  on  his  buoyant  nature.  Through 
worry  he  had  lost  girth;  the  ponderous  stomach  on 
which  the  shining  chain  heaved  up  and  down  as  he 
breathed  heavily  and  talked  was  not  so  assertively 
protuberant,  and  his  fat  face  had  lost  something  of 
its  unctuous  shine.  Somehow,  though  he  could 
hardly  account  for  it,  for  nothing  in  the  shape 
of  material  wealth  had  so  far  been  lost  there  by  him, 
Paradise  Valley  oppressed  him  like  a  bad  dream,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  get  away  from  it  for  a  time. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  whatever  I  can,"  Justin  de 
clared. 

"  It's  your  own  father  who  is  lying  in  that  room, 
which  he'll  never  get  out  of  I'm  afraid,  and  I  knew 
of  course  you'd  be  willing  to  help  out  now  all  you 
can.  Clayton  doesn't  speak  very  favorably  of  the 
case.  There  isn't  really  anything  the  matter  with 
Davison,  so  far  as  any  one  can  see.  It's  his  mind,  I 
reckon;  it  must  have  been  an  awful  shock  to  him, 
perfectly  terrible,  and  it  has  simply  laid  him  out. 
He  thought  everything  of  Ben.  Well,  I'm  not  a 
man  to  talk  about  the  dead;  but  Ben  would  have 
tried  the  soul  of  a  saint,  and  if  I  must  say  it  to  you  I 
never  saw  anything  very  saintly  in  the  character  of 
your  father." 

275 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  It's  a  good  thing  Harkness  didn't  move  out  of 
the  valley  when  he  left  the  ranch." 

"  A  great  thing  for  us  now.  He's  dropped  every 
thing  over  on  his  farm  and  stays  here  almost  night 
and  day.  I'll  see  that  he  doesn't  lose  by  it." 

While  they  were  talking,  William  Sanders  came 
up,  chewing  like  a  ruminant. 

"  When  I  had  my  fortune  told  that  time  in  Den 
ver  the  fortune  teller  said  there  was  goin'  to  be  a 
heap  of  trouble  down  here,  and  it's  come.  I  don't 
reckon  that  Paradise  Valley  is  any  too  lucky  a  place 
to  live  in,  after  all.  But  them  that  makes  trouble 
must  expect  trouble." 

Fogg  did  not  deign  to  notice  this. 

"  How  are  your  crops,  Mr.  Sanders  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  his  habitual  smile. 

"  They  might  be  better,  if  the  ditch  company  and 
the  ditch  rider  done  their  duty.  I  ain't  scarcely  had 
any  water  fer  a  week,  and  that  field  of  millet  in  the 
northeast  corner  of  my  place  is  dry  as  a  dust  heap. 
I  been  wonderin'  when  I'll  git  water  to  it.  That's 
why  I  come  over." 

Justin  promised  to  see  to  it. 

"  Davison  ain't  doin'  as  well  as  he  might,  I 
hear?" 

He  plucked  a  straw  and  set  it  between  his  teeth. 

"  Not  doing  well  at  all,"  said  Fogg. 

"  Well,  it's  a  pity ;  but  them  that  makes  trouble 
must  expect  trouble." 

When  Lemuel  Fogg  returned  to  Paradise  Valley 
a  month  later  Philip  Davison  was  not  changed 
greatly.  His  mind  was  clear,  but  his  physical  con- 

276 


Shadows  Before 

dition  was  low.  Clayton  remained  with  him  much 
of  the  time,  when  not  called  away  to  visit  other  pa 
tients.  But  Davison  never  spoke  to  him  of  Ben  nor 
of  Justin. 

With  Fogg  at  this  time  came  a  man  who  repre 
sented  an  Eastern  home-builders'  association,  whose 
object  was  to  establish  homes  for  worthy  but  com 
paratively  poor  men  in  favorable  places  on  the  cheap 
lands  of  the  West.  The  association  was  conducted 
by  charitable  men  and  women  who  had  collected 
funds  for  their  enterprise.  There  were  many  ex 
cellent  families,  this  man  said,  in  cities  and  else 
where,  who  would  be  glad  to  go  upon  farms,  if  only 
they  could  do  so.  It  was  the  purpose  of  this  society 
to  help  such  people.  It  would  place  them  upon 
farms,  furnish  comfortable  houses,  give  them  a 
start,  and  permit  them  to  repay  the  outlay  in  long 
time  installments.  The  self-respect  of  a  farming 
community  thus  established  would  be  maintained, 
and  that  was  a  factor  making  for  moral  health  which 
could  not  be  overlooked. 

When  Fogg  had  shown  this  man  about  the  valley 
he  introduced  him  to  Justin,  and  later  talked  with 
Justin  about  him. 

"  I've  listened  to  him/'  he  said,  "  and  his  proposi 
tion  strikes  me  favorably.  He  wants  to  buy  canal 
and  dam,  land  and  everything,  and  he  offers  a  good 
price.  If  we  accept,  he  will  cut  the  tunnel  through 
the  ridge  to  the  Warrior  River  and  bring  that  water 
in  here  to  irrigate  the  valley,  and  he  will  bring  on 
his  colony  from  the  East.  As  soon  as  Davison  is 
able  to  talk  about  it,  I'll  put  the  matter  before  him. 

277 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

I  think  it  would  mean  big  money  to  us,  if  we  sell 
a  part  of  the  land,  enough  for  them  to  settle  their 
colony  on ;  and  sell  out  to  them,  too,  our  interests  in 
the  irrigation  company.  They're  in  shape  to  cut 
that  tunnel  to  the  Warrior  and  put  in  a  good  dam. 
When  the  thing  has  been  developed  as  they  propose 
to  develop  it,  every  acre  in  this  valley  will  be  worth 
ten  times  what  it  is  now.  So,  you  see  my  point. 
They'll  cut  the  tunnel,  develop  and  settle  the  coun 
try,  and  thus  make  the  land  we  shall  still  hold  worth 
a  good  deal  more  than  the  whole  of  it  is  worth  to 
day,  counting  cattle  and  everything  else  in.  But  to 
induce  them  to  take  up  this  enterprise  we've  got  to 
sell  them  our  stock  in  the  canal  company  and  enough 
land  to  make  it  worth  their  while.  If  we  don't, 
there  are  other  valleys  in  the  state,  and  they'll  go 
elsewhere  and  do  what  they  think  of  doing  here." 

Fogg  was  enthusiastic.  This  new  plan  offered 
greater  profit  than  anything  that  had  yet  been 
brought  to  his  consideration.  It  built  a  new  dream 
world  in  Justin's  mind.  In  this  dream-world  the 
vision  of  Peter  Wingate  took  actual  form,  and  he 
saw  the  desert  burst  into  bloom  and  fruitage. 

At  another  time  when  Fogg  came  down  there 
came  with  him  a  cattleman  who  desired  to  purchase 
the  herd  that  grazed  on  the  mesa  above  Paradise 
Valley  and  watered  where  the  fenced  chute  opened 
upon  the  water-holes.  It  was  still  a  considerable 
herd,  and  troublesome  near  the  irrigated  farms.  Its 
grazing  range  lay  on  the  now  contracted  area  that 
stretched  round  to  the  southward  of  the  valley  and 
extended  to  and  beyond  the  Black  Canon.  The 

278 


Shadows  Before 

fence  by  the  Black  Canon  had  been  ordered  down  by 
the  government  agents,  and  the  herd  was  for  sale. 

Davison's  condition  was  improved,  and  Fogg 
went  in  to  discuss  with  him  the  subject  of  the  sale  of 
this  herd,  or  a  large  portion  of  it,  and  also  the  prop 
osition  of  the  man  from  the  East. 

Coming  out,  he  met  Justin  with  a  smile. 

"  You  haven't  seen  your  father  this  morning?  " 

"  Not  this  morning;  but  I  was  in  his  room  awhile 
yesterday,  and  he  seemed  much  better." 

"  Very  much  better ;  he's  going  to  get  well,  in  my 
opinion.  I've  had  a  long  talk  with  him,  and  he 
agrees  with  me  about  those  sales.  The  man  who 
came  down  with  me  is  ready  to  buy.  We'll  let  him 
have  what  he  wants ;  the  remainder  of  the  herd  we'll 
throw  over  on  the  Purgatoire.  You  may  tell  Hark- 
ness  about  it,  and  things  can  be  made  ready  for  the 
transfer  of  the  cattle.  They'll  have  to  be  driven  to 
the  station  for  shipment." 


279 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PHILOSOPHY  GONE   MAD 

ONE  day  it  became  known  that  Sibyl  Dudley 
had  visited  Paradise  Valley  and  was  stop 
ping  in  the  town.  She  had  ridden  out  to 
call  on  Mary  Jasper. 

Justin  carried  the  unpleasant  news  to  Clayton. 

"  I  hope  I  shan't  see  her,"  said  Clayton,  ner 
vously.  He  had  received  the  news  in  his  study, 
where  he  had  been  writing.  Now  he  laid  down  his 
pen.  "  I  hope  it  isn't  her  intention  to  call  here. 
But  tell  me  about  it ;  why  has  she  visited  Mary  ?  " 

"  That  I  don't  know.  Lucy  saw  her  as  she  left 
Jasper's.  She  will  find  out  for  me." 

"  And  Mary  ?  I  haven't  heard  about  her  for 
some  time." 

"  She  is  very  much  changed.  You  would  hardly 
know  her.  She  was  in  bed  nearly  a  month  after 
Ben's  death.  But  I've  thought  she  looked  better 
lately." 

"  Youth  is  strong,"  said  Clayton ;  "  it  can  sur 
vive  much.  But  I  am  surprised  that  Mrs.  Dudley 
has  called  there." 

When  Justin  had  nothing  further  to  communicate 
Clayton  turned  again  to  his  writing.  But  that  night 
he  called  Justin  into  his  study,  a  place  in  which  Jus- 

280 


Philosophy  Gone  Mad 

tin  had  passed  many  pleasant  hours.  Clayton  was 
hollow-cheeked  and  nervous.  The  news  of  the  com 
ing  of  Sibyl  to  Paradise  Valley  had  not  been  with 
out  its  evil  effect. 

"  You  are  well,  Justin  ?  "  he  inquired  solicitously. 

"  Quite  well,"  said  Justin,  with  some  show  of  sur 
prise. 

"  I  hoped  so ;  but  things  have  gone  so  wrong  here 
lately  that  I  worry  about  every  one." 

He  took  up  some  sheets  of  paper  on  which  he  had 
been  writing. 

"  In  our  latest  talk  I  was  telling  you  something 
about  the  new  views  I  have  worked  out  concerning 
spiritual  matters.  I  told  you  I  had  come  to  the  con 
clusion  that  the  laws  which  apply  to  the  material 
world  apply  also  to  the  spiritual  world.  In  the  ma 
terial  world  we  have  the  law  of  evolution.  We  do 
not  know  how  life  begins,  but  we  know  how  it  de 
velops.  Applying  this  to  the  spiritual  world,  we 
may  say  that  though  we  cannot  know  how  spiritual 
life  begins  it  must  develop  after  it  begins.  And  de 
velopment  implies  different  grades  or  orders  of  be 
ings  ;  name  them  angels,  or  what  you  will." 

"  You  know  I  said  I  wasn't  able  to  agree  with 
you  about  all  those  things,"  Justin  reminded,  gently. 

"  That  doesn't  matter ;  it  is  nothing  to  me  who  be 
lieves  or  disbelieves.  Whatever  is  truth  is  truth,  if 
it  is  never  accepted  by  any  one.  I  simply  work  out 
these  results  for  my  own  satisfaction,  and  I  like  to 
talk  them  over  with  you." 

Justin  settled  in  his  chair  to  listen.     This  new 

281 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

view  of  Clayton's  seemed  strange,  but  it  was  sure  to 
be  presented  in  an  interesting  manner. 

"  I  think  I  have  made  a  startling  discovery." 
Clayton's  eyes  shone  and  his  manner  astonished 
Justin.  "  In  the  material  world  man  is  the  highest 
product  of  evolution,  though  he  has  not  reached  the 
highest  possible  state.  In  the  spiritual  world,  which 
must  be  more  advanced,  the  highest  state  has  been 
reached,  and  he  who  has  reached  it  we  call  God.  The 
one  best  fitted  to  reach  it  of  all  spiritual  beings  has 
reached  it,  and  has  become  absolute.  Yet  every 
spiritual  being  is  entitled  to  reach  that  state,  if  he  is 
worthy,  each  in  turn.  Being  infinite,  God  could  pre 
vent  that,  and  occupy  the  throne  forever.  The  com 
mon  belief  is  that  he  does  so  occupy  it.  But,  being 
just,  as  well  as  infinite,  he  abdicates — suicides,  if 
I  may  use  the  word  without  irreverence — so  that  an 
other  spirit,  becoming  perfect  through  ages  of  de 
velopment,  may  take  the  throne ;  and  when  he  does 
so  we  have  what  is  popularly  conceived  of  as  *  the 
end  of  the  world ' — the  universe  goes  back  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  to  fire-mist  and  chaos,  and  all 
things  begin  over  again.  That  is  the  great  day  of 
fire,  when  all  things  are  consumed ;  the  day  of  which 
the  Revelator  wrote  when  he  said,  'And  the  heaven 
departed  as  a  scroll  when  it  is  rolled  together.' ' 

There  was  something  in  Clayton's  eyes  which 
Justin  had  never  seen  before,  and  which  he  did  not 
like;  it  forced  him  to  combat  Clayton's  astonishing 
views. 

"  But  the  logic  of  the  situation  compels  that  be 
lief,"  Clayton  insisted. 

282 


Philosophy  Gone  Mad 

"  Then  I  refuse  to  accept  the  premises." 

"  But  you  can't !  "  His  earnestness  grew.  "  See 
here!"  He  read  over  some  of  the  things  he  had 
written.  "  It  comes  to  that,  and  there  is  no  way  of 
getting  round  it." 

"  I  get  round  it  by  refusing  to  believe  any  of  it." 

"  And  Justin !  "  The  dark  eyes  shone  with  a  still 
brighter  light.  "  I  put  the  question  to  you : — If 
God,  the  Infinite,  may  commit  suicide  for  a  good 
reason,  why  may  not  a  man  ?  I  put  it  to  you." 

Seeing  the  black  thought  which  lay  back  of  these 
words  Justin  began  to  reason  with  Clayton,  com 
bating  the  idea  with  all  the  vigor  and  eloquence  at 
his  command,  and  years  of  training  under  Clayton 
had  made  him  a  good  reasoner.  But  he  could  not 
break  the  chain  of  false  logic  which  Clayton  had 
forged,  or  at  least  he  could  not  make  Clayton  see 
that  it  was  broken,  though  he  talked  long  and  earn 
estly. 

Justin  passed  an  uneasy  night,  waking  at  inter 
vals  with  a  nervous  start,  and  listening  for  some 
thing,  he  hardly  knew  what.  Once,  hearing  Clay 
ton  stirring,  he  sat  up  in  bed,  shivering,  ready  to  leap 
out  and  force  his  way  into  Clayton's  room,  if  it 
seemed  necessary.  He  was  alarmed,  and  he  thought 
he  had  ground  for  his  alarm.  The  coming  of  Sibyl 
to  the  valley  he  charged  with  being  responsible  for 
Clayton's  strange  and  changed  manner.  Sibyl's 
malevolent  influence  seemed  to  lie  over  everything 
that  came  near  her,  like  the  blight  of  the  fabled 
upas. 

In  the  morning  Clayton  was  very  quiet,  and  even 

283 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

listless.  He  did  not  recur  to  the  talk  of  the  previous 
evening,  though  Justin  momentarily  expected  him 
to,  and  was  forging  more  arguments  to  combat  this 
new  and  distressing  theory  which  had  wormed  its 
way  into  Clayton's  troubled  mind.  During  the  day, 
when  there  were  so  many  things  to  hold  his  atten 
tion,  Clayton  was  not  likely  to  give  so  much  thought 
to  Sibyl  and  his  new  conclusions ;  he  had  a  number 
of  patients,  including  Davison,  who  demanded  his 
attention,  and  as  a  physician  he  threw  himself  into 
his  work  without  reserve  or  thought  of  himself. 
Therefore,  Justin  felt  easier  when  Clayton  saddled 
his  horse  and  rode  away  to  visit  a  sick  man,  who  was 
one  of  the  newer  settlers  in  the  valley. 


284 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SIBYL  AND  CLAYTON 

RETURNING  that  afternoon  from  a  long  and 
somewhat  wearing  journey,  and  being  dis 
tressed  and  troubled,  Clayton  encountered 
Sibyl,  as  he  turned  into  the  Paradise  trail. 

She  was  mounted  on  a  spirited  bay  horse,  which 
she  had  obtained  in  the  town,  and  was  riding  out  to 
make  a  call  on  Mary  Jasper.  She  drew  her  horse 
in,  when  she  beheld  Clayton,  and  sat  awaiting  him. 
He  would  have  fled,  when  he  saw  her  there,  but 
that  such  an  act  savored  of  ungallantry  and  cow 
ardice.  So  he  continued  on  until  he  reached  her 
side.  She  looked  into  his  troubled  face  with  a  smile, 
pushing  back  her  veil  with  a  jeweled  white  hand 
from  which  she  had  drawn  the  glove.  He  had  al 
ways  admired  the  beauty  of  her  hands. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you,"  she  said  in  her  sweetest 
manner.  "  So  I  waited  for  you  to  come  up." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  he  demanded, 
hoarsely. 

"  I  have  friends  in  the  town,  you  know,  and  I 
came  down  to  visit  them ;  just  now  I  am  on  my  way 
to  call  on  Mary.  But  it's  such  a  pleasure  to  see 
you,  Curtis,  that  if  you  don't  object  I'll  ride  with 
you  a  short  distance." 

285 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

The  blood  came  into  his  face  under  that  winning 
smile.  He  knew  he  ought  to  hate  this  woman,  and 
he  had  a  sense  of  self-contempt  when  he  could  not. 

"  I  thought  yesterday  of  calling  on  you/'  she 
went  on. 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't,"  he  contrived  to  say. 

"  Now,  don't  be  foolish  and  unreasonable,  Curtis. 
I  know  what  you've  thought,  and  all  the  horrid 
things  that  have  been  said  about  me  since  Ben  Davi- 
son's  death,  but  they  weren't  true.  It  isn't  any 
pleasanter  for  me  to  be  lied  about  and  misunder 
stood  than  it  is  for  you  and  Justin.  Mary's  mind 
has  been  poisoned  against  me,  but  I'll  make  her  see 
even  yet  that  I'm  not  the  woman  she  thinks  I  am." 

He  sat  looking  at  her  in  hesitation,  the  strange 
light  which  Justin  had  noticed  again  in  his  eyes; 
he  hardly  heard  her  words,  but  he  could  not  fail  to 
hear  the  music  of  her  voice.  It  had  not  lost  its 
charm. 

"  Good  God,  Sibyl,"  he  burst  out,  "  if  you  could 
only  have  been  true  to  me,  and  we  could  have  lived 
happily  together !  " 

There  was  agony  and  yearning  in  his  tone. 

"  You  have  thought  many  foolish  things,  which 
you  had  no  right  to  think,  just  like  other  people. 
Shall  we  ride  along?  There  is  a  good  path  leading 
by  those  bushes." 

"  Yes,  the  trail  past  the  Black  Canon." 

The  fence  hedging  the  mesa  from  the  valley  had 
been  lately  removed.  He  turned  his  horse  toward 
the  path,  and  they  rode  along  together.  At  first  he 
did  not  speak,  but  listened  to  her,  with  a  glance  at 

286 


Sibyl  and  Clayton 

her  now  and  then  as  she  sat,  firmly  erect  and  "beauti 
ful,  on  that  handsome  bay.  Her  gray  veil  fluttered 
above  her  face.  It  was  an  attractive  face,  even  a 
beautiful  one,  after  all  the  years,  and  the  strain  and 
turmoil  of  them.  There  were  a  few  fine  hair-like 
wrinkles  about  the  dark  eyes,  but  she  knew  how  to 
conceal  them.  The  rouge  which  Lemuel  Fogg  had 
noticed  in  Denver  was  absent,  or,  having  been  deftly 
applied,  was  unnoticed  by  Clayton.  Her  blue  close- 
fitting  riding  habit,  with  a  dash  of  bright  color  at  the 
throat,  became  her  and  heightened  her  charm.  And  it 
was  her  beauty,  unchanged,  it  seemed  to  him,  which 
Clayton  devoured  when  he  glanced  at  her;  it  was 
her  beauty  which  had  won  his  boyish  heart,  and  it 
had  not  lost  its  power. 

"  Good  God,  Sibyl,  if  you  could  only  have  been 
true  to  me !  "  he  exclaimed  again. 

She  showed  no  irritation. 

"  You  have  thought  many  things  that  weren't 
true ;  for  you  were  never  willing  to  believe  anything 
but  the  worst.  This  is  a  lovely  country  here,  isn't 
it?  And  that  canon;  it's  a  horrid-looking  hole,  but 
fascinating." 

"  As  fascinating  as  sin,  or  a  beautiful  woman." 

She  laughed  lightly. 

'  You  always  had  a  way  of  saying  startling 
things.  If  you  had  set  your  mind  to  it  you  might 
have  been  a  great  and  successful  flatterer." 

"  I  might  have  been  many  things,  if  other  things 
had  been  different." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  true  of  all  of  us.    The  trouble 

287 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

is  that  there  seems  to  be  no  forgiveness  for  mis 
takes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

Her  dark  eyes  looked  into  his.  As  they  were 
withdrawn  they  took  in  every  detail  of  his  face  and 
figure. 

"  I  really  didn't  know  you  were  so  good  looking, 
Curtis!  You're  really  stunning  on  a  horse,  in  that 
dark  suit  and  those  tan  riding  boots.  I  think  you 
must  have  prospered  down  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  lived." 

"  What  I  meant  was  that  you  never  have  been 
able  to  forgive  any  of  my  mistakes." 

'  Your  sins,  you  mean." 

"  Believing  evil  of  me,  you  say  sins.  But  I  have 
been  lied  about,  Curtis,  cruelly  lied  about;  I'm  not 
perfect,  any  more  than  you  are,  but  I'm  not  as  bad 
as  you  think.  You  said  a  while  ago.  in  one  of  your 
dramatic  ways,  that  if  I  could  only  have  been  true 
to  you,  and  we  could  have  lived  happily  together! 
If  I  went  wrong  once,  is  that  any  reason  why  I 
couldn't  be  true  to  you  now  ?  " 

His  hand  shook  on  the  rein. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  could  be  true  to  any  man  or 
any  thing." 

"  Now  is  that  quite  fair?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  quite  fair,  but  you  know  I 
have  had  good  cause  for  saying  it." 

"  Judge  me  by  the  present,  not  by  the  past.  Do 
as  you  would  be  done  by.  That's  been  one  of  the 
tenets  of  your  creed,  I  believe." 

"  Judge  you  by  the  present?  " 

288 


Sibyl  and  Clayton 

"  Yes ;  give  me  a  chance  to  show  that  I  can  be 
true  to  you." 

"  You  mean  live  with  me  again  as  my  wife?  " 

"Why  not?" 

Again  her  dark  eyes  were  scanning  his  face  and 
figure.  Plimpton  was  gone,  Ben  Davison  was  dead, 
and  the  years  were  passing.  Even  Mary  had  de 
serted  her.  She  had  no  money,  and  soon  might 
not  have  even  so  much  as  a  shelter  to  which  she 
could  turn.  Mary's  desertion  and  loss  of  faith  in 
her  had  been  the  heaviest  blow  of  all.  It  uprooted 
violently  a  genuine  affection. 

Sibyl  Dudley,  in  spite  of  a  brave  outward  show, 
was  beginning  to  feel  the  terrifying  loneliness  of 
isolation ;  the  protection  of  even  that  broken  arm  of 
Curtis  Clayton,  which  she  had  scorned  in  other  days, 
would  be  a  comfort  now.  She  knew  that  he  had 
never  ceased  to  love  her,  and  she  might  win  and  hold 
him  again.  That  would  at  least  forefend  the  terrors 
of  poverty  and  loneliness  which  threatened  her  in 
the  shadows  of  the  gathering  years. 

Clayton  did  not  reply  to  her  question  instantly. 
He  looked  off  into  space  with  dark  eyes  that  were 
troubled.  Sibyl,  glancing  at  him,  saw  the  stiff  left 
arm  swinging  heavily,  and  thought  of  the  flower 
in  that  canon  long  ago  and  of  the  foolish  girl  who 
stood  on  the  canon  wall  and  called  to  her  devoted 
lover  to  get  it  for  her.  Afterward,  that  foolish  girl 
had  trampled  in  the  dust  even  the  beautiful  flower 
of  his  perfect  love.  It  began  to  seem  that  she  would 
live  to  regret  it,  if  she  were  not  regretting  it  al 
ready.  The  mills  of  the  gods  are  still  turned  by 

289 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

the  river  of  Time,  and  they  still  grind  exceeding 
fine. 

"  If  I  could  but  trust  you !  "  he  said,  after  a 
while,  with  a  sigh. 

They  went  on,  past  the  granite  wall  of  the  canon, 
and  out  upon  the  high  mesa  beyond.  Behind  them 
lay  Paradise  Valley,  smiling  in  the  sunshine  of  the 
warm  afternoon.  Before  them  was  a  dust  of  mov 
ing  cattle.  Harkness,  having  received  his  instruc 
tions  from  Justin,  was  bunching  the  mesa  herd, 
with  the  assistance  of  cowboys,  preparatory  to  cut 
ting  out  the  cattle  that  had  been  sold  and  driving 
them  to  the  station  for  shipment. 

"  If  I  could  but  trust  you !  "  Clayton  repeated, 
when  she  made  further  protest.  "  Perfect  love 
casteth  out  fear,  but  I  haven't  that  perfect  love  any 
longer." 

He  turned  on  her  an  anguished  face. 

"  Yet,  even  while  I  say  that,  I  know  that  I  have 
never  stopped  loving  you  a  single  minute  in  all  these 
years.  Such  love  should  have  had  a  better  re 
ward." 

"  I  was  foolish,  Curtis.  And  I  have  paid  for  my 
foolishness." 

The  dark  eyes  turned  to  his  were  half  veiled  by 
the  dark  lashes,  in  the  old  fascinating  way.  Cleo 
patra  must  have  looked  thus  upon  Antony. 

"  For  all  the  heart-ache  I  have  caused  you  I  beg 
forgiveness.  Kindness  has  always  been  your  hobby, 
kindness  to  everything,  even  the  dumb  brutes;  and 
now  I  think  you  ought  to  be  a  little  bit  kind  to  me, 
when  I  come  to  you  and  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry 

290 


Sibyl  and  Clayton 

for  everything,  for  all  that  has  been  and  all  that  you 
have  believed." 

"  I  forgive  you,"  he  said,  breathing  hard.  "  I 
forgave  you  from  the  first." 

"  But  I  want  your  love  again.  It  isn't  often  that 
a  woman  comes  to  a  man  begging  in  this  way." 

'  You  have  always  had  my  love,  and  you  have  it 
now;  I  never  loved  any  one  else.  I  have  never 
looked  on  any  woman  with  thought  of  love  since  I 
left  you  and  came  to  this  valley." 

The  dust  cloud  had  thickened,  and  from  the  mesa 
before  them  came  shouts  and  confused  cries.  Then 
from  the  right,  out  of  the  deep  trough-like  depres 
sion  which  the  cowboys  called  "  the  draw,"  there 
heaved  suddenly  a  line  of  moving  backs  and  clicking 
horns. 

Sibyl  was  putting  on  the  glove  she  had  carried 
in  her  jeweled  hand  and  was  arranging  her  veil. 
She  had  kept  the  hand  ungloved  that  its  beauty 
might  be  displayed,  but  had  begun  to  feel  that  both 
face  and  hand  needed  protection  from  the  hot  sun 
shine.  Clayton  drew  rein,  when  that  heaving  line 
rose  before  him,  apparently  out  of  the  earth.  Until 
then  he  had  forgotten  where  he  was,  had  forgotten 
everything  but  the  woman  beside  him. 

Sibyl's  face  whitened  when  she  saw  those  tossing 
horns;  and  the  veil,  escaping  in  her  agitation,  was 
blown  toward  the  cattle.  Startled  by  having  come 
so  suddenly  on  these  riders,  the  cattle  were  halting 
in  confusion.  The  fluttering  veil,  whirled  into  their 
midst  by  the  wind,  completed  the  work  of  fear. 

The  rustle  of  a  leaf  as  it  scrapes  and  bobs  over 

291 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

the  ground,  a  flash  of  sunlight  from  a  bit  of  broken 
glass,  the  scampering  of  a  coyote  to  his  covert,  or 
the  tumbling  to  earth  of  an  unhorsed  cowboy,  will 
sometimes  throw  a  moving  herd  into  a  panic  of 
fright  and  bring  on  a  wild  stampede,  though  at  other 
times  all  these  things  combined  would  not  have  the 
slightest  effect.  The  reason  must  be  sought  in  the 
psychology  of  fear. 

The  cattle  in  front  whirled  to  race  away  from 
that  fluttering  object  of  terror,  while  those  behind 
crowded  them  on.  In  the  midst  of  the  confusion, 
the  larger  herd  plunged  into  view  out  of  the  dust 
cloud,  hurried  along  by  the  cowboys.  A  quiver  of 
fright  ran  through  the  entire  heaving  mass,  and  in 
an  instant  the  stampede  madness  was  born. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  this !  "  Clayton  shifted  the 
reins  to  his  stiff  left  hand  and  turned  her  horse 
about.  "  You  used  to  be  a  good  horsewoman,  and 
we  may  have  to  do  some  sharp  riding." 


292 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  RIDE  WITH  DEATH 

"So  steady  and  firm,  leaning  low  to  the  mane, 
With  the  heel  to  the  flank  and  the  hand  to  the  rein, 

Rode  we  on; 

Reaching  low,  breathing  loud,  as  a  creviced  wind  blows  ; 
Yet  we  spoke  not  a  whisper,  we  breathed  not  a  prayer ; 
There  was  work  to  be  done,  there  was  death  in  the  air; 
And  the  chance  was  as  one  to  a  thousand." 

SIBYL  had  buttoned  her  glove,  and  she  now 
took  the  rein  herself  and  settled  firmly  in  the 
saddle. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  danger  ?  How  horrid  to 
have  a  thing  like  this  happen  and  spoil  our  ride !  " 

To  her  unpracticed  eyes  the  appearance  of  the 
moiling  herd  was  not  as  threatening  as  at  first.  The 
cattle  in  front  were  pushing  into  those  behind  and 
staying  their  forward  progress.  Farther  back, 
where  the  stampede  madness  was  doing  its  deadliest 
work,  she  could  not  see,  for  the  cattle  there  were 
hidden  by  the  dust  cloud. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  this,"  said  Clayton,  in  a 
nervous  voice,  as  he  set  his  horse  in  motion.  "  Un 
less  we  ride  fast  they  may  cut  us  off  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  canon." 

The  forward  line  of  moving  cattle  was  hurled  on 
again,  as  the  receding  wave  is  caught  by  the  one  be 
hind  it  and  flung  against  the  shore.  The  thunder 

293 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

of  pounding  hoofs  rose  like  the  lashing  of  surf  on 
a  rocky  coast.  Then  that  long  line,  flashing  out  of 
the  dust,  deepened  backward  beneath  the  lifting 
cloud  until  it  resembled  a  stretch  of  tossing  sea. 
The  resemblance  was  more  than  fanciful.  The  ir 
regular  heaving  motion  of  a  choppy  sea  was  there, 
the  white  glint  of  horns  was  as  the  shine  of  wave 
crests,  the  tumultuous  roar  rose  and  fell  like  the 
thunder  of  billows,  and  the  dust  cloud  hovered  like 
thick  mist. 

Clayton  and  Sibyl  were  galloping  at  a  swift  pace. 
Terror  clutched  at  her  heart  now  and  shone  in  her 
dark  eyes.  She  heard  the  mad  roar  behind  her,  and 
dared  not  look  back.  Clayton  looked  back,  and  his 
face  became  set  and  white. 

"  A  little  faster,"  he  begged,  when  he  had  thus 
glanced  behind. 

He  struck  her  horse  with  his  hand  to  urge  it  on, 
while  his  heels  flailed  the  sides  of  his  own  beast. 
Her  ribboned  whip  lifted  and  fell,  and  she  cried  out 
to  her  horse  in  fear.  The  whole  herd  was  in  mo 
tion. 

It  was  crescent-shaped;  widest  in  its  center,  like 
the  horned  moon;  one  end  rested,  or  rather  moved, 
on  the  canon's  rim ;  the  other,  out  on  the  flat  mesa, 
was  swinging  in  toward  the  canon,  farther  down. 
It  was  this  lower  point  of  the  crescented  herd  that 
Clayton  feared  most;  the  great  moon-shaped  mass 
was  crumpling  together,  its  ends  were  converging, 
and  if  that  lower  point  reached  the  canon  before 
the  riders  could  pass  through  the  gap  which  now 
beckoned  there,  they  would  be  caught  in  the  loop 

294 


The  Ride  with  Death 

of  the  crumpled  crescent  and  crushed  to  death  or 
hurled  into  the  canon.  The  only  hope  lay  in  passing 
through  that  opening  while  it  still  remained  an  open 
ing.  And  toward  that  gap  they  were  riding,  with 
a  portion  of  the  herd  thundering  behind  along  the 
canon  wall. 

'''  We  can  make  it,"  Clayton  cried  hopefully ;  "  we 
can  make  it !  " 

And  he  urged  the  horses  on. 

Though  the  words  encouraged  her,  Sibyl  could 
not  fail  to  perceive  the  deadly  peril  of  the  closing 
gap  toward  which  they  were  speeding. 

Fortunately  the  ground  was  level,  broken  only  by 
grassy  hillocks  and  bunches  of  sage.  The  few  ob 
structing  plum  bushes  that  had  survived  the  fire  or 
had  sprouted  since  that  time  had  been  passed  already. 

As  the  cattle  at  the  lower  end  of  the  crescent  were 
thus  brought  near,  Sibyl  beheld  the  flecking  spume 
of  their  foaming  mouths  as  it  was  flung  into  the 
air  and  glistened  on  their  heads  and  bodies.  She 
could  even  see  the  insane  glare  of  their  eyes,  as  they 
drove  toward  her  in  their  unheeding  course.  The 
thunder  of  their  hoofs  was  making  the  ground 
shake. 

"  Ride,  ride ! "  Clayton  shouted,  his  voice  tremu 
lous.  "  We  can  get  through.  We  must  get 
through !  " 

Even  the  horses  seemed  to  know  what  threatened 
now.  Leaping  into  the  narrowing  gap,  they  an 
swered  this  last  appeal  of  heel,  whip,  and  voice  with 
a  further  increase  of  speed.  Clayton  bent  forward 
in  his  saddle  as  if  he  would  hurl  himself  on,  and  in 

295 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

the  extremity  of  his  anxiety  reached  out  his  stiff 
hand  toward  Sibyl's  bridle  to  urge  her  horse  to  even 
a  swifter  pace. 

They  were  riding  dangerously  near  the  canon 
wall.  Hidden  as  the  canon  was  by  tall  grass,  the 
cattle  were  driving  straight  toward  it,  as  though 
determined  to  hurl  themselves  and  these  wild  riders 
into  its  depths. 

And  now  the  heaving  backs,  the  tapering  horns, 
the  glaring  eyes,  the  shining  gossamer  threads  of 
wispy  spume,  and  the  tortured  dust  cloud,  seemed 
to  be  flung  together  into  the  very  faces  of  the  riders. 
For  a  moment  Sibyl  thought  all  was  lost ;  in  imagi 
nation  she  was  being  impaled  on  those  tapering 
horns.  She  heard  Clayton  yelling  encouragement. 
Then,  with  spurning  feet,  the  horses  passed  through 
the  narrow  passage;  and  behind  them  broke  a  bel 
lowing  tumult,  as  the  foremost  cattle  began  to 
plunge  downward  into  the  canon. 

Sibyl  reeled  in  her  saddle,  and  Clayton  put  out 
his  stiff  hand  to  support  her. 

Behind  them  was  that  wild  roar,  where  the  living 
cascade  was  pouring  over  the  canon  wall;  and  the 
danger  was  behind  them,  and  past,  he  thought. 

But  suddenly  the  shooting  torrent  of  bellowing 
animals  was  stopped.  The  portion  of  the  herd  which 
had  followed  madly  after  the  fleeing  riders  along 
the  wall,  and  had  been  augmented  greatly  in  num 
bers,  struck  this  lower  line.  It  was  like  the  impact 
of  two  cross  sections  of  a  landslide.  The  weaker 
gave  way,  over-borne  and  crushed;  and  the  larger 
herd  streamed  on,  over  a  tangle  of  fallen  bodies, 

296 


The  Ride  with  Death 

adding  to  the  tangled  pile  and  treading  each  other 
down  in  wild  confusion.  The  danger  was  not  past. 

Clayton's  stiff  hand  settled  Sibyl's  reeling  form 
in  the  saddle.  He  was  shaking  with  the  strain  of 
his  exertions  and  his  emotions.  His  face  was  set 
like  a  mask  and  his  dark  eyes  glittered  feverishly. 

"  We  must  ride  on !  "  he  urged.  "  Just  a  little 
farther !  I'll  help  you,  but  we  must  ride  on !  " 

Returning  fear  put  strength  into  her  quivering 
body.  She  sat  erect  once  more,  and  again  plied  the 
ribboned  whip.  The  horses,  with  sides  smoking 
and  flanks  heaving,  galloped  on.  They  had  made 
a  terrible  run,  as  their  dripping  bodies  and  straining 
red  nostrils  showed,  but  they  were  still  game,  and 
they  responded  to  this  new  call  as  nobly  as  to  the 
first. 

The  section  of  the  herd  that  had  overwhelmed 
and  trampled  under  foot  the  cattle  in  its  way,  came 
straight  on,  now  and  then  tossing  an  unfortunate 
into  the  canon  as  a  splinter  is  flung  out  from  a  re 
volving  and  broken  wheel.  But  the  speedier  horses 
drew  away  again. 

While  hope  was  thus  returning  to  Sibyl  her  horse 
went  down,  having  thrust  a  foot  into  a  grass-grown 
badger  hole,  and  she  was  torn  from  the  saddle  and 
hurled  violently  through  the  air.  She  struck  heavily 
and  lay  stunned.  Clayton  was  off  his  horse  and  at 
her  side  in  an  instant,  but  had  caution  enough  left 
to  cling  to  his  bridle  rein.  Sibyl  lay  groaning;  but 
when  he  put  his  strong  sound  arm  about  her,  she 
rose  to  her  feet.  Blood  showed  on  her  lips. 

"  It's  nothing,"  she  said,  as  he  wiped  it  away  with 

297 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

his  handkerchief.  "  I — I  think  I  have  only  cut  my 
lip."  The  thunder  of  the  approaching  hoofs  fright 
ened  her.  "  Can  you  help  me  into  the  saddle?  " 

She  clung  to  him  weakly. 
'  Yes/'  he  answered,  supporting  her. 

But  when  they  turned  to  her  horse  he  saw  that 
in  its  fall  it  had  broken  its  leg.  It  stood  helplessly 
by  the  badger  hole,  from  which  it  had  scrambled, 
holding  up  that  dangling  leg. 

'*  You  must  take  my  horse !  "  he  said. 

"  And  leave  you  here  ?  " 

"  I — I  can  outrun  them,  maybe ;  if  I  had  a  re 
volver  I  might  stop  the  foremost  and  get  ground  to 
stand  on." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  bosom  and  drew  out  a 
small  revolver. 

"  It  may  be  foolish  for  a  woman  to  carry  such 
a  weapon,  but  it  will  be  useful  now." 

It  was  but  a  little  thing,  a  woman's  toy,  yet  he 
took  it  eagerly. 

"  I  can  turn  them  aside  with  this ;  you  must  take 
my  horse  at  once." 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  placed  her  in  his 
saddle.  She  did  not  stop  for  conventionalities,  but 
set  a  foot  in  each  stirrup. 

"  You  can  make  it  yet !  "  he  panted.  "  Go ;  don't 
think  of  me ;  I  will  stop  them  here ! " 

He  knew  he  could  neither  stop  them  nor  turn 
them  aside.  She  did  not  want  to  leave  him,  but  fear 
tore  at  her  heart;  the  herd  was  on  them  again, 
though  the  halt  had  been  so  brief. 

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The  Ride  with  Death 

"  Go ! "  he  yelled,  and  struck  the  horse  with  the 
shining  revolver. 

Its  quick  leap  almost  threw  her,  but  she  clutched 
the  horn  of  the  saddle  and  raced  on. 

Clayton  turned  to  face  the  mad  stampede.  That 
line  of  tossing  heads  and  clicking  horns  was  not  a 
hundred  yards  away.  He  looked  at  the  little  re 
volver  and  smiled.  The  strange  light  which  had 
so  startled  Justin  was  again  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you  to  be  trodden  to  death  by 
them,  old  fellow,"  he  said  to  the  horse ;  "  you  de 
serve  a  better  fate  than  that." 

With  the  words,  he  put  the  pistol  to  the  head  of 
the  trembling  horse  and  fired.  It  was  but  a  small 
pellet  of  lead,  but  it  went  true,  and  the  horse  fell. 
He  stepped  up  to  its  body  and  sent  the  second  shot 
at  the  leading  steer.  He  glanced  at  the  sky  an  in 
stant,  then  at  Sibyl  fleeing  away  along  the  canon 
wall  in  the  direction  of  the  distant  ranch  buildings. 
The  strange  light  deepened  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  saved  her,"  he  whispered ;  "  and  even 
God  can  die,  when  the  reason  is  great  enough !  " 

Sibyl  did  not  hear  those  shots  in  the  confusion 
that  clamored  behind  her,  and  she  had  not  courage 
to  look  back.  Having  lost  her  ribboned  whip  in  the 
fall,  she  beat  the  horse  with  her  gloved  hand.  A 
numbing  pain  gripped  her  heart  and  made  her 
breathing  quick  and  heavy.  At  times  her  sight 
blurred,  and  then  fear  smote  hardest,  for  she  felt 
that  she  was  falling.  Yet  she  rode  on,  reeling  in 
the  deep  saddle,  and  when  faint  maintained  her  posi 
tion  by  clinging  to  the  saddle  horn. 

299 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

At  the  door  of  the  ranch  house  she  fell  forward 
on  the  neck  of  the  horse  and  slipped  in  a  limp  heap 
to  the  ground;  but  she  was  up  again,  with  hand 
pressed  to  her  heart,  when  Pearl  Harkness  dashed 
out  to  assist  her. 

Behind  Pearl  came  Lucy  Davison  and  Mary  Jas 
per.  They  had  heard  the  thundering  of  hoofs,  and 
but  a  minute  before  had  seen  Sibyl  ride  into  view 
at  that  mad  pace  from  behind  the  screening  stables. 
She  had  outridden  the  stampeded  cattle.  The  curv 
ing  canon  wall  had  turned  them  at  last,  and  they 
were  beginning  to  mill. 

There  was  blood  on  Sibyl's  lips  and  a  look  of 
death  in  her  ghastly  face;  yet  she  smiled,  and  tried 
to  stand  more  erect,  when  she  saw  Mary. 

"  Help  me  into  the  house,  please/'  she  whispered 
faintly;  "  I— I'm  afraid  I'm  hurt." 

Supported  by  Pearl  on  one  side  and  by  Lucy  and 
Mary  on  the  other,  Sibyl  entered  the  house.  Inside 
the  doorway  she  reeled  and  put  her  hand  to  her 
eyes.  She  stiffened  with  a  shudder,  as  she  recov 
ered. 

"  I  must  lie  down !  "  she  gasped ;  but  when  she 
took  another  step  the  blindness  and  faintness  re 
turned,  and  she  fell,  in  spite  of  the  supporting  arms. 

Pearl's  cry  of  alarm  and  consternation  reached 
the  room  where  Philip  Davison  lay.  It  was  a  lower 
room  and  furthest  removed  from  the  mesa,  but  he 
had  heard  the  rumble  of  the  stampede.  The  sound 
of  excited  voices,  Sibyl's  heavy  fall,  and  that  outcry 
from  Pearl  Harkness,  called  back  the  wasted 
strength  to  his  weakened  body.  He  appeared  in  the 

300 


[The  Ride  with  Death 

connecting  doorway,  half  dressed,  and  with  a  blan 
ket  drawn  round  his  shrunken  shoulders.  He  looked 
a  spectre  and  not  a  man;  his  bearded  cheeks  were 
hollowed,  his  straight  nose  appeared  to  crook  over 
the  sunken  mouth  like  the  beak  of  a  bird,  and  his 
blue  eyes,  gleaming  from  cavernous  sockets,  stared 
with  unnatural  brightness.  Seeing  Sibyl  on  the  floor 
with  the  frightened  women  about  her,  he  came  for 
ward  and  offered  to  help.  Nothing  could  have  as 
tounded  them  more  than  this,  for  they  thought  he 
had  not  strength  to  walk. 

"  Put  her  in  the  bed  there,"  he  commanded,  indi 
cating  an  adjoining  room. 

He  stooped  to  assist  in  lifting  her ;  but  the  faint- 
ness  was  passing,  and  she  showed  that  she  was  still 
able  to  assist  herself. 

'  Yes,  put  me  in  the  bed,"  she  panted. 

They  helped  her  to  the  bed,  Davison  following 
with  tottering  steps,  trying  to  aid.  Mary  shook  the 
pillow  into  shape  and  placed  it  under  her  head. 
Sibyl  observed  her  and  put  up  her  gloved  hand  to 
touch  Mary's  hair. 

"  You  are  here,  dear ;  I — I  am  so  glad !  " 

"  Where  is  Clayton  ? "  said  Davison,  turning 
about.  "  He  is  needed." 

A  cowboy  came  running  into  the  house  to  report 
the  stampede  of  the  cattle. 

"  Let  them  go,"  Davison  cried ;  "  you  ride  at  once 
for  Doctor  Clayton.  Tell  him  to  come  immedi 
ately." 

Pearl  Harkness  had  hurried  into  the  kitchen, 
thinking  of  hot-water  bags.  Mary  stared  into 

301 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

Sibyl's  face  and  inanely  patted  the  pillow  tucked  un 
der  her  head.  Lucy  was  wiping  away  the  blood  that 
oozed  from  between  Sibyl's  lips. 

"  Come  nearer,  dear,"  said  Sibyl  in  a  weak  voice, 
speaking  to  Mary.  "  Come  nearer,  dear ;  I  want 
you  to  kiss  me  and  forgive  me.  I — I — " 

Her  gHastly  features  became  more  pinched  and 
ghastly;  her  hand  wavered  toward  Mary's  face. 
Mary  took  it  and  placed  it  against  her  warm,  tear- 
wet  cheek,  in  the  old  way. 

Sibyl  stared  at  her. 

"  I — I  can't  see  you,  dear;  but  you  have  hold  of 
my  hand.  The  room  must  be  growing  dark,  or — or 
is  it  my  eyes?  The  windows  haven't  been  closed, 
have  they?" 

"  The  windows  are  open,"  said  Mary ;  "  wide 
open." 

Sibyl  still  stared  at  her,  while  Pearl  bustled  into 
the  room  with  cloths  and  a  water  bottle. 

"  It — it  is  growing  dark  to  me.  I'm  dying,  and 
I  know  it.  My — my  horse  fell,  and — and  Clayton 
was  with  me;  he  is  out  there  yet — where — where 
the  cattle  are." 

She  made  another  effort  to  see. 

"  Hold — hold  my  hand  tight,  Mary ;  and — and 
please  kiss  me,  won't  you?  Hold  my  hand  tight! 
I  loved  you,  Mary — I  loved  you!  Oh,  I  can't  see 
yOU — I  can't  see  you  at  all !  Kiss  me,  and  forgive 
me.  I  don't  want  to  go  into  the  dark!  I  always 
loved  the  light— the  light !  " 

As  Mary  stooped  with  that  forgiving  kiss,  Sibyl 
touched  her  hair  with  affection. 

302 


The  Ride  with  Death 

"  I  forgive  you  everything,"  said  Mary. 

"  You  won't  believe  that  I  truly  loved  you,  Mary, 
but  I  did ;  always  remember  that  I  did.  Oh,  I  want 
the  light — the  light — I  can't  see  you!  I'm  afraid 
there  isn't  any  light — beyond!  I  could  bear  the 
fires  of  hell  if  they  but  gave  light  and  I  could  live 
on.  But  I'm  afraid — afraid,  Mary,  that — that  there 
isn't  anything  beyond;  and  that  I  shall  never  see 
you  again ! " 

She  put  up  her  hands,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  I've  been  a  wicked  woman,  but  I  loved  you, 
Mary;  oh,  I  loved  you;  and  I  tried  to  shield  you 
all  I  could!  I  oughtn't  to  have  taken  you  to  Den 
ver,  but  I  wanted  you,  and  I  was  selfish.  Oh,  this 
darkness!  Open  the  windows;  I'm — I'm  afraid  of 
the  darkness!  Open  the — windows;  I  must — must 
have  light!" 

But  the  light  did  not  return. 

Clayton's  body,  mangled  beyond  recognition,  was 
found  near  that  of  the  horse  he  had  mercifully 
slain. 


303 


CHAPTER  XXI 

RECONCILIATION 

PHILIP  DAVISON  had  an  accession  of 
strength  after  that  and  sat  at  his  desk 
through  the  whole  of  one  afternoon,  thinking 
and  writing.  When  Justin  made  his  customary  call 
in  the  morning  and  was  about  to  turn  away,  Davi- 
son  bade  him  stay. 

"  You  will  find  some  papers  in  the  upper  right 
hand  drawer  of  my  desk,  Justin.  Get  them  and 
bring  them  to  me." 

Justin  found  the  papers  and  handed  them  to  him. 

"  Now,  sit  down  by  the  bed  again." 

Justin  took  the  chair,  and  looked  at  his  father, 
who  reclined  in  the  bed  propped  with  pillows.  Da- 
vison  had  changed  greatly.  His  hair  and  beard  were 
almost  white  and  his  blue  eyes  gleamed  from  deep 
sockets.  There  was  something  pathetic  in  the  con 
trast  between  the  emaciated,  trembling  father  and 
the  robust,  stalwart  son.  Justin  pitied  him. 

"  There  are  some  things  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about,  Justin."  His  hands  trembled  so  much  that 
the  papers  rattled  as  he  unfolded  them.  "  I  am  not 
able  to  attend  to  business  now,  and  may  never  be 
able.  Fogg  will  be  here  to-morrow,  and  there  are 
some  things  I  want  to  talk  over  with  you  before  he 

3°4 


Reconciliation 

comes.  He  is  anxious  to  sell  out  to  that  man  from 
the  East.  He  thinks  the  chance  is  one  not  to  be 
lost." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Davison  had  offered  to 
consult  with  Justin  on  any  subject,  or  had  spoken 
to  him  in  this  manner.  Justin  drew  his  chair  closer 
to  the  bed. 

"  If  I  can  help  you  in  any  way." 

"  I've  got  to  have  your  help,  I  suppose,"  said 
Davison,  with  a  touch  of  his  old  petulance.  "  When 
a  man  is  wrecked  he  clutches  at — well,  we  won't  talk 
about  that!  We'll  have  to  agree  to  let  bygones  be 
bygones.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  and 
I  want  to  do  right  by  you." 

He  put  down  the  papers,  which  he  had  been  about 
to  read. 

"  By  the  way,  Justin,  I've  been  thinking  a  good 
deal  about  you  and  Lucy.  You  and  she  are  still  in 
the  notion  of  marrying,  I  suppose  ?  " 

His  voice  was  kindly  now,  and  it  softened  still 
more  as  he  beheld  the  hurt  expression  on  his  son's 
flushed  face. 

"  Forget  what  I  said  just  now,  and  I'll  try  to  be 
more  considerate.  This  has  been  a  terrible  thing 
for  me ;  how  terrible  I  don't  think  you  can  ever  real 
ize.  I  had  made  Ben  my  idol.  It  was  foolish,  of 
course,  but  in  this  world  men  do  foolish  things;  I 
have  done  my  full  share  of  them.  So  if  there  is  any 
thing  to  be  forgiven  by  any  one  I  am  the  one  to  do 
the  forgiving." 

His  hands  shook  again  on  the  papers  and  tears 
came  into  the  sunken  eyes. 

305 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

"  I  have  forgiven  Ben  everything.  I  think  he 
was  not  so  much  to  blame  after  all.  I  was  wild, 
too,  in  my  youth;  and,  forgetting  that,  I  did  not 

bring  him  up  right.    If  he  had  lived ;  that  is,  if " 

The  tears  overflowed  on  his  cheeks,  and  he  stopped. 
"  But  we  won't  talk  about  that.  I  wish  I  could  for 
get  it." 

He  folded  the  papers  and  spread  them  out  again, 
while  he  sought  to  gain  control  of  his  voice. 

"  If  you  and  Lucy  are  still  in  the  notion  of  get 
ting  married,  you  have  my  full  consent  to  do  so. 
You  are  my  son,  and  I  shall  treat  you  as  a  son 
should  be  treated;  and  she  is  my  adopted  daughter. 
So,  whatever  I  have  is  yours  and  hers,  when  I  am 
gone." 

'  You  will  get  well !  "  said  Justin,  earnestly  and 
with  feeling. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so !  "  There  was  a  touch  of  the 
old  fire  now.  "  I  think  I  shall  get  well.  I  have 
improved  lately.  My  head  doesn't  trouble  me  so 
much,  for  one  thing.  It  has  cleared  so  that  I  was 
able  to  do  a  good  deal  of  writing  yesterday.  I  shall 
get  well,  but  I  know  I  shall  never  be  the  same;  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  take  the  interest  in  business 
matters  that  I  did.  I  don't  seem  to  care  what  goes 
on  in  the  valley  and  on  the  ranch  now.  Even  the 
loss  of  those  cattle  didn't  touch  me.  Once  I  should 
have  felt  it,  just  as  Fogg  did." 

"  Lucy  will  be  very  glad  to  know  that  we  have 
your  full  consent  to  our  marriage,"  Justin  ventured. 

"  Of  course  she  will ;  and  you,  too.  It  will  even 
please  me  to  have  you  married  as  soon  as  possible. 

306 


Reconciliation 

You  may  live  in  any  of  the  houses  we  have  bought 
that  will  suit  you,  or  a  new  one  can  be  built." 

He  took  up  the  papers  again. 

"  I  shall  turn  the  management  of  the  place  over 
to  you  until  I  am  able  to  manage  it  myself.  You 
can  consult  with  Fogg,  and  I  will  give  you  what 
instructions  I  can.  I  hope  to  be  strong  enough  in 
another  month  to  ride  about,  and  then  I  can  assist 
you  even  more.  Fogg  thinks  it  would  be  well  to 
sell  our  canal  interests  and  a  part  of  our  land  to  this 
Eastern  man.  I  agree  with  him.  I  think  we  ought 
to  hold  a  good  deal  of  the  valley  land ;  it's  going  to 
be  valuable,  when  that  tunnel  is  cut.  That  man 
will  bring  in  a  colony  of  farmers  and  gardeners;  a 
good  many  people  can  live  here,  with  the  aid  of  the 
irrigation  that  can  be  had  from  the  Warrior  River. 
I  want  to  stay  here,  in  spite  of  what  has  happened; 
and  you  and  Lucy  will  want  to  stay  here.  There 
isn't  a  prettier  valley  in  the  state,  and  it's  our  home ; 
and  the  sale  of  a  part  of  our  land,  with  the  cultiva 
tion  of  the  rest  of  it,  and  the  increase  in  values,  will 
make  us  independent." 

He  began  to  read  from  the  papers.  To  Justin's 
surprise  they  held  a  list  of  names  of  men  Davison 
had  wronged  and  to  whom  he  wished  now  to  make 
restitution. 

"  I  was  over-persuaded  in  a  good  many  things, 
and  often  went  with  Fogg  against  my  better  judg 
ment.  But  I  haven't  anything  to  say  against  him. 
Whatever  I  did  I  am  willing  to  shoulder.  He  is  a 
first-class  business  man ;  I  admire  his  ability  to  make 
money,  and  I  wanted  money,  for  Ben.  These  things 

3°7 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

I  have  marked  here  I  desire  made  right,  so  far  as 
they  can  be  made  right.  I  don't  want  you  to  give 
away  money  to  anybody.  Money  isn't  to  be  shaken 
out  of  every  tree,  except  by  a  man  like  Fogg.  Pay 
whatever  is  just,  but  no  more.  The  names  are  here, 
and  the  amounts.  I  have  been  generous  in  the  esti 
mates,  and  you  will  have  no  call  to  go  farther  than 
I  have." 

He  put  the  papers  in  Justin's  hands. 

"  There ;  I  turn  this  business,  and  all  the  rest  of 
my  business,  over  to  you !  And  you  and  Lucy  may 
get  married  as  soon  as  you  like.  Consult  with  Fogg 
concerning  the  land  to  be  sold/' 

The  blue  eyes  smiled  from  the  deep  sockets,  and 
the  face  was  softer  and  more  kindly.  Already  Da- 
vison  had  a  higher  and  more  satisfactory  opinion  of 
himself. 

"  You  are  my  son,  Justin.  I  have  no  other  son 
now;  and  we  will  try  to  be  to  each  other  what  we 
ought  to  have  been  all  these  years." 

"Father!" 

Justin's  voice  trembled ;  and  though  when  he  stood 
erect  he  towered  above  other  men,  he  humbled  him 
self  now  as  a  child,  and  laid  his  first  kiss  of  love 
on  his  father's  wasted  cheek. 


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CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  DREAMS  THAT  CAME  TRUE 

THE  colony  from  the  East  had  been  es 
tablished,  and  the  harnessed  water  was  doing 
the  will  of  man.  At  the  head  of  the  valley, 
where  the  cultivated  fields  began  to  widen  into  a 
green  expanse  of  gardens  and  small  farms,  Steve 
Harkness  stopped  his  buggy  in  the  trail  and  awaited 
the  coming  of  another  buggy  he  had  seen  issue  from 
the  town.  With  Harkness  sat  Pearl  and  Helen,  the 
latter  a  slender,  awkward  girl  now,  but  in  the  eyes 
of  her  father  beautiful  beyond  the  power  of  words 
to  express.  The  three  were  dressed  in  their  best — 
they  had  been  attending  church.  Harkness  shook 
out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  perspiring  face — 
church  services  always  made  him  perspire  freely — 
and  the  scent  of  cinnamon  drops  thickened  the  air. 

"  It's  Justin  and  Lucy  coming,"  said  Pearl. 

"  Yes,  I  knowed  it  was ;  that's  why  I  pulled  in. 
I  don't  reckon  a  handsomer  couple  rides  this  valley 
trail,  present  company  always  ac-cepted.  Davison 
was  with  'em  at  church,  but  I  s'pose  he  stopped  in 
town  to  take  dinner  with  some  one." 

Harkness  tucked  his  handkerchief  into  his  pocket 
and  looked  down  the  valley,  where  the  fruitful  fields 
were  smiling.  In  the  midst  of  the  fields  and  the 

309 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

gardens  were  many  houses  and  clumps  of  shade 
trees.  The  flat-topped  mountain  behind  the  town 
lay  against  the  bosom  of  the  summer  sky  like  a 
great  cameo.  A  Sabbath  peace  was  on  the  land, 
and  a  great  peace  was  in  the  heart  of  Steve  Hark- 
ness. 

"  It's  nice  to  have  a  home/'  he  declared  thought 
fully,  as  he  looked  at  the  quiet  valley,  "  and  it's 
nice  to  see  other  people  have  homes.  But  until  a 
man  is  married  and  has  one  of  his  own  he  don't 
know  how  'tis." 

Pearl  glanced  down  at  her  dress  of  China  silk 
and  settled  its  folds  comfortably  and  proudly  about 
her. 

"  I  think  farming  is  better  than  the  cattle  busi 
ness,  anyway." 

"  Yes,  farmin'  this  way,  with  irrigation ;  irriga 
tion  with  plenty  of  water  beats  rainfall  in  any  coun 
try  under  the  sun.  I'm  satisfied.  But  you  don't 
never  hear  me  saying  anything  ag'inst  the  cattle 
business;  it's  all  right,  and  it  will  continue  in  this 
country  fer  a  good  many  years  yit.  But  Paradise 
Valley  was  cut  out  fer  farmers  and  their  homes. 
I'm  always  reckonin'  that  the  Lord  understood  his 
business  when  he  made  men  and  land  and  cattle. 
The  valleys  that  can  be  irrigated  fer  the  farmers, 
and  the  high  dry  land  that  can't  be  fer  the  men 
that  want  to  raise  cattle.  And  things  will  always 
come  out  right,  if  you'll  only  give  'em  time.  It's 
been  proved  right  here." 

When,   after  pleasant   greetings,   Harkness  had 

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The  Dreams  that  Came  True 

never  hear  me  saying  anything  ag'inst  the  cattle 
that  led  to  the  higher  land  on  the  edge  of  the  mesa, 
where  the  view  of  the  valley  was  better.  Coming 
out  upon  the  highest  point,  they  saw  the  valley 
spread  wide  before  them,  green  as  an  emerald.  The 
few  groves  were  many  times  multiplied.  On  every 
hand  were  homes,  girt  by  gardens  and  embowered 
in  flowers.  Irrigating  canals  and  laterals  glittered 
like  threads  of  silver.  Warrior  River,  uniting  with 
Paradise  Creek,  had  furnished  means  for  the  trans 
formation  of  the  desert,  and  it  was  literally  blossom 
ing  as  the  rose. 

Thus  surveying  the  valley,  Justin  saw  the  fulfill 
ment  of  the  dream  of  the  dreamer,  Peter  Wingate. 
More,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  in 
the  position  he  held,  that  of  superintendent  and 
manager  of  the  irrigating  company,  he  had  done  his 
full  share  in  bringing  that  dream  to  its  beautiful 
realization.  He  had  helped  to  make  the  one-time 
desert  bloom.  Years  had  run  their  course,  yet  the 
dream  had  come  true.  He  had  prospered  also,  not 
only  financially,  but  in  other  ways;  he  was  in  the 
state  senate  now,  the  position  Fogg  had  held.  And, 
though  he  was  a  farmer  and  irrigator,  he  was,  also, 
a  ranchman. 

As  he  sat  thus  viewing  the  smiling  valley,  with 
his  wife  beside  him,  seeing  there  the  fulfillment  of 
the  dream  of  the  preacher,  Justin  turned  to  her 
whom  he  loved  best  of  all  in  the  world.  Looking 
into  her  eyes,  where  wifely  love  had  established 
itself,  he  beheld  there  the  fulfillment  of  another 


Justin  Wingate,  Ranchman 

dream ;  and  beholding  it,  he  bent  his  head  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Lucy,"  he  said,  with  tender  earnestness,  "  this, 
too,  is  Paradise." 


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